


The shanty of Puerto Blanco

by salytierra (octavaluna)



Category: Barracuda - Jean Dufaux, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, BDSM, Blood and Torture, Consensual Kink, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Food Play, Human AU, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Pirate Island AU, Power Exchange, Situational Humiliation, Slavery, Slow Build, Violence, YOU DON'T NEED TO HAVE READ BARRACUDA TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY, as in weird sex and inappropriate use of vegetables, mentions of non-con and dub-con, third parties being dicks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octavaluna/pseuds/salytierra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Nobody can imagine Puerto Blanco. Puerto Blanco is a nightmare.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio Fernández de Carriedo is the heir of a Grandee of the Spanish Empire. A young man with fire in his chest that lost all of his humanity, rights and almost his life when his ship was attacked by the infamous pirate Blackdog on his way to the Americas.<br/>Luckily, Antonio is worth a fortune, but until his father can pay the outrageous ransom that the Governess of Puerto Blanco asked of him, he's left to the mercy of her right hand man, Arthur Kirkland.  </p><p>Authoritative, prideful and cruel, Arthur seems determined to break Antonio's spirit. However, sometimes life reveals secrets and twists the lives of her children in a way that nobody could have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barracuda

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the prompt challenge at [“spukdays”](http://spukdays.tumblr.com) that somehow got way out of hand.    
>   
> DISCLAIMER:  
> This is a Historical AU set in the universe of Jean Dufaux’ [“Barracuda”](http://darkwolfsfantasyreviews.blogspot.com.es/2014/10/barracuda-1-slaves-by-jean-dufaux.html)  
> You don’t need to know anything about the comic to understand this story but know that the Island of Puerto Blanco as well as the captain Blackdog, the Barracuda and the governess, as well as many background elements belong to him. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya. 

**_Then:_ **

 

Never before would have imagined Antonio that his life could end this way; on his knees among the lifeless bodies of his guards and servants and with a head wound that tinted his sight in red and prevented him from thinking clearly. But at least there was still a heartbeat in his chest.

His legs might have given up on carrying his body, however, he still kept his back straight. He was a high nobleman of the Spanish Empire and would honour that title until his last breath.

“Blackdog” He grunted when the infamous captain of the Barracuda made his way towards him. “Finish the damn job already, before I find my strength and wipe you out.”

The ugly, old man that the captain was, sneered in derision, gripping painfully Antonio’s jaw between blackened fingers and turning his head from left to right a couple of times.

“Have you ever even had a sword in your hands, pretty boy? Much less killed anybody?” He asked, followed by the laughter of his crew. “Don’t worry kiddo, you won’t die here. Your father is a Grandee of Spain. I bet the Governess will find a good use for you.”

And that’s how Antonio ended up huddled with the women and the slaves in the bowels of the Barracuda, suffering from a low but persistent fever for days, until one of the pirates unceremoniously grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out on the Caribbean sun, throwing his half-unresponsive and delirious body in a rowing boat.

At some point between the pirate ship and the shore, Antonio lost consciousness, victim of the heat and his sickness.

 

***

 

**_Now:_ **

 

When Antonio wakes up it’s to the fresh marine breeze and fabric caressing his body.

He opens his eyes progressively, the light hurting his pupils. But as they get used to it he can take in the small cubicle, with mold in the corners and cracks in the walls; there's a decent-sized window overlooking the ocean near the bed frame too. His entire body aches when he moves it and yet he grits his teeth and manages to sit up, noticing his utter nakedness once he moves the sheets out of the way.

There’s a bandage around his forehead and neck and jug of water on a bedside table. He drinks it greedily, sighing in contentment as it seems to travel vein by vein down his body, relieving his pains and clearing up his head.

One by one the memories from everything that happened - how many days ago? He shakes his head, wincing at the persistent pain. - comes back and Antonio has to sit on the bed again, staring at his own hands folded over his thighs, still in disbelief.

He is Antonio Fernández de Carriedo, youngest child of the Duke of Alburquerque, a Grandee of the Spanish Empire and his father’s only remaining heir. He was supposed to cross the ocean to put an end to the disputes between the family’s representatives in their territories in the Indies. But their caravel had been boarded by pirates… Shit! Fucking pirates…

Blackdog’s words keep resonating in his mind. He looks frantically around, jumping on his feet and trying the door first. Locked, of course. Looking out the window he understands why it’s even there. As if the distance to the ground wasn’t already high enough, the spikes plucked into the soil under it, like a bizarre flower bucket adorned with the remains of yellowed bones, represent a pretty solid discouragement for whoever might have the brilliant idea of jumping out.

He sits on the window frame, bare-assed and feeling defeated. _It’s going to be alright_ , his mind keeps trying to cheer him up. _Father will pay, will pay anything_.

“He’ll pay.” He murmurs, trying to convince himself that his old man, if not out of love for his son but in order to keep the family name alive, will do anything. “He will.”

 

“He better do. Or you are a dead man.”

Antonio almost falls out the window from surprise. He’s been so absorbed in his pity-party that he missed the sound of the locks turning.

In the door stands a man of hair like soiled gold and eyes of forest green. Antonio gulps, frozen in place for a few seconds, as the newcomer’s gaze travels over his naked body, unceremoniously pausing over his groin and finally meeting Antonio’s eyes.

“Not bad at all.” He says with an unnerving smile. “Specially for a delicate court-flower.”

Antonio gapes, feeling a weird mixture of disgust and intrigue, but quickly recovers from that tirade of surprises and snatches a sheet from the bed, covering himself up.

“Who the hell are you?!” He demands “...and how dare you?”

The other man snorts, walking past him to leave a covered tray on the bedside table, he keeps glancing Antonio’s way, like a hungry cat at a jar of cream.

His clothes are dirty and old, but look way more decent than what the pirates of the barracuda were wearing. Several gold rings adorn his fingers, and although his gaze is youthful like a child’s and his voice fresh and clear, his hands and the way he walks, as well as the frown lines embedded in his skin, roughened by the elements, speak of a lifetime of experience. All in all, Antonio isn’t sure if he’s standing in front of a teenager or a man twice his age. _He’s handsome though_ , a feeble, treacherous voice in his head whispers, and Antonio squashes it before it can even take a proper shape.

“My name is Arthur Kirkland.” He answers finally “and right now, I own you.”

“I am not a slave!” Antonio protests indignantly.

“You are until your father buys your freedom.” Arthur snorts. “You lost your status as a free man when Blackdog gifted you to the governess as part of his tithe. And she, in turn, gave you to me for safekeeping. You might not remember any of that because you were unconscious. How’s the head?”

Antonio ignores the question, crossing his arms and standing straight, with all the authority a half naked man, only covered by a ratty sheet tied around his waist can convey.

“I am a high noble of Castile by the grace of God, you have no right to own me or deprive me of my rights.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur waves a hand in front of his face dismissively “Save it, pretty boy. Your titles are worth jack shit in Puerto Blanco. Only whores and murderers survive here. You just might be an exception as long as you are worth your weight in gold.”

“And which one are you?” Antonio spats out, narrowing his gaze.

“Me?” Arthur grins “Well, both of course.”

Antonio just shakes his head. _Figures._ “How much did you ask of my father for me?”

“A lot. See? The Governess’ palace needs a serious fix. We have a lot of expenses. As does this island. Your father can pay it all at once, which I seriously doubt he will be able to do even with his position, or in several parts. In any case, you’ll remain here until the ransom is complete.”

“I don’t have the time to lose in here with the likes of you. I demand to speak to the governess!” If only he could negotiate a better deal…

Arthur takes a step forward. He’s of Antonio’s stature and built, but also moves like a man used to order over men twice his size. Unfortunately for him, so is his prisoner.

“Let’s make one thing clear from the beginning. You don’t speak to the governess, you don’t speak to anyone on this island, you don’t speak even to the slaves if I don’t consent you to.”

“I said I’m not your fucking-!” Antonio shots out! Humiliation rising like a sickening wave of bile in his throat.

“Yes you are! This is not a vacation. You are my property and I’m not going to tolerate your girly whines or any disrespect! So take your bravado, your God’s grace and your fucking family pride, shove it where the sun doesn’t shine and be a good lap dog or-”

Antonio punches him.

It’s not the first time he has to hit or hurt someone. He’s been raised in a family heavily tied to the crown and the army, after all. However, none of his training sessions contemplated his adversaries playing dirty.

“You little bitch!” Arthur yells and tries to kick Antonio in the groin, who blocks it but cries out as the other man manages to grab his hair and yank his head back, overbalancing them both and sending them tumbling to the ground. Antonio’s shoulder hits the surface, sending a spike of pain down his spine, but he grits his teeth and rolls them around, only to be pinned down again by Arthur’s knee digging painfully into his stomach, hand on his throat.

He chokes, trying to get up, to claw at Arthur’s arm, righteous fury and lack of air making his vision blur. He thinks he can hear steps approaching, but all his senses are focused on the man above him.

“Oh, fuck.” Arthur suddenly says in a different tone, almost reverent one. “-but you are beautiful when you are angry.”

The distraction is enough for Antonio to manage a deep gulp of air. He tries to get up but Arthur holds his position above him so the Spaniard does the only thing he can think of and spits on the other man’s face.

“Hold him.” Arthur grunts furiously and stands up, rubbing his eyes with his dirty sleeve as Antonio is yanked up by two massive slaves.

“I must confess I didn’t expect a mainland rich kid to be such a fiery beast.” Arthur says, crossing his arms. “It’s almost going to be a pity to break you.”

Shaking his head he turns around, picking up the tray he brought earlier and throwing the contents out the window.

“Take him outside and tie him to the whipping post. Twenty lashes before the sunset. I will deliver them myself.”


	2. pyres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!!! Sorry it's so short :'D
> 
> Same as the previous note, this is based off the world of Dufaux’ [Barracuda](http://darkwolfsfantasyreviews.blogspot.com.es/2014/10/barracuda-1-slaves-by-jean-dufaux.html) but you don’t need to read it to understand everything. (It’s highly recommended though, because it’s MOTHERFUCKING AMAZING!)
> 
> However, if you feel like putting a face to the names mentioned in these chapters, [see them by yourself](http://salytierra.tumblr.com/post/148209369878/barracuda-characters-mentioned-in-chapters-12-of). 

 

 

Blood on his lips; on his shoulders, in his hair and down his hips. Every last nerve of his body on fire. His knees trembling, threatening to give up. And they probably would if not for the ropes digging into his wrists, holding him up.

But Antonio is still conscious, still alert. The pain stopped blinding him a while ago, when the adrenaline kicked in. So he grits his teeth and braces for another hit. It doesn’t hurt when it makes contact with his abused back, the agony wave comes half a second later, and every crack of the whip is worse than the previous.

But he hasn’t screamed yet, and he won’t. He owes it to the noble blood spilling out of his wounds.

Arthur had left him tied to the whipping posts for hours before coming back right after the sunset, carrying a torch in one hand to light the pyres and a whip in the other to deliver his punishment.  
Twenty whippings, twenty times that Antonio kept his mouth shut, biting on the inside of his cheek. He feels dizzy, like his body is floating in a boiling pot but his head is full of ice.

“So beautiful.” Arthur’s voice sounds suspiciously close and this time Antonio almost screams when he feels a hand sliding down his spine. “I’m almost jealous you know.” Arthur whispers in his ear. “This colour suits you.” His other hand gently reaches to take Antonio’s chin and raise it up until their eyes meet. “If I were you, I’d remember this lesson fondly. After all, I’m such a thoughtful master that I-”

He never finishes his speech. Because with a grunted _“Hijo de perra”_ Antonio tilts his head back and snaps his teeth on Arthur’s fingers as fast and firmly as he can.

He passes out to the sound of his captor’s scream and a dull throb in his skull.

 

***

 

Waking up is surprisingly easy.

Antonio first realises that he’s lying on his front, in semi-darkness and a bed much softer and cleaner than the last one. Also, there’s a warm, pulsing sensation on his naked back but very little actual pain. It does ache when he tries to move through, and it feels like no muscle below his shoulders and above his waist is actually working. Unintentionally he obeys the voice ordering him to stay put.

Turning his head around, he sees Arthur sprawled in a rocking chair, one leg over the armrest and a book resting on his knee. Even in the feeble light of the candles lighting up his side Antonio can distinguish two bandaged fingers on his left hand.

“What did you do to me?” He mumbles and the other man looks up from his reading.

“It’s a numbing balm, don’t worry. It will speed up your healing too. A friend of mine learned how to make it from a native witch. Figured you wouldn’t be one to appreciate much the pain.”

“Why?” Antonio frowns. His voice comes out raspy and dry and he coughs a couple of times.

“Why what?” Arthur asks, nonchalantly; standing up and going to pick up a glass of water from the bedside table. “Don’t bite me again.” He warns before helping Antonio to drink. The water is sweetened and smells of herbs but so, so good.

“Why are you trying to spare me the pain now, after what you just did to me? What’s your game?”

Arthur hums, acting like he needs time to think. He sets the glass back on the table and sits on the bed, tugging on a strand of Antonio’s hair.

“No game. I just like you.”

Antonio snorts in disbelief and Arthur laughs, shaking his head and tugging on the same strand again. “It’s true, you know? For a noble kid that was born with a silver spoon up his ass-”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the saying.”

“- don’t interrupt me. For a pretty, spoiled brat, you’ve got quite the temper. That’s good, that’s going to keep you alive. But you needed to understand one, basic thing: you’re alone. Neither your family, not your blood, your titles, your king… not even your God can help you here.”

Something about that strikes Antonio as funny and he starts chuckling, a little hysterically maybe. Because really, how more absurd could his situation become? He’s pretty sure this all has to be some sort of elaborate joke from above. Or maybe it’s what he gets for the sins he never confessed to Father Bernard. The sins that, if the way Arthur acts is anything to go by, are a rotten illness of this island as well. No. He refuses to believe it’s God shoving him to his rightful place. Everything that happened in the last few days can only be due to the hearts of putrid men.

“So you punished me just to teach me a lesson?” he asks finally, trying to lean away from the hand in his hair.

Arthur tsks, bending down to be closer and lowers his voice. “No, see? I punished you because you’ve been disobedient. And to prove that I could if I wanted to. Like it or not, you are mine for the time. You can make it easy on yourself, or extremely hard. You decide.”

Antonio swallows, closing his eyes “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, I want a lot of things, pretty boy.” He can almost hear the leer in the other man’s voice as a thumb brushes over his cheekbone. It’s unnerving. “But I’m not sure yet if you can give me exactly what I need, so I will only take your cooperation and obedience for now. And if you’re lucky and I continue to like you once you are not trying to bite my fingers off anymore, I may even make it easier on you until we have to ship you off back to daddy.”

“What if I don’t want to follow your whims?”

That was a mistake. Antonio hisses as Arthur suddenly slaps him on the shoulder blade. Jesus… his back must be a mess.

“Then I will have some more fun and I can’t guarantee I won’t keep a piece of you as a reminder when you’re gone. Be as smart as I know you must be, gorgeous, or the next time my friend Keen-Flame might be just a little bit too busy to make this nice balm for you, and my comfy bed will be occupied. They say the rats down in the basement love the smell of juicy, healthy meat. Your choice. I will enjoy it either way.”

He stands up abruptly, hands on his hips and looking down at Antonio “This is the deal: you work for me. You do what I tell you around the house and you teach me how to read and write in your language, you teach me about the world outside of this island too. In return, I will make sure my slaves don’t strangle your delicate, white neck and Puerto Blanco doesn’t swallow you alive. You don’t speak to anyone without my permission, don’t leave this mansion unless it’s in my company, and you don’t disrespect me in front of anyone else. If you are useful and good I may even introduce you to the Governess one day, so you can try to plead to her cold, greedy heart. Not that it will do you any service.”

Antonio turns his head away. He wants to be strong and hold on to his honour. He wants to say no, fuck you, and make _that man’s_ life as hard as he can manage. However, he’s equally aware of his disadvantage and a well-known voice in his head keeps repeating in a soft, reproachful voice. “ _This pride of yours, will be your undoing one day, Toni._ ”

“I’m tired.” He says at the end and hears Arthur’s steps retreating.

“Then sleep. You need it right now. I will have some food brought for you tomorrow. You haven’t eaten anything in four days and I need you strong and healthy to do your work.”

Funny, he can’t even feel the hunger behind the dread and the fear in his entrails. But then the light goes out and the sound of the door closing works like an instant lullaby on his exhausted bones.

Tomorrow, tomorrow Antonio will decide what kind of captive he’s going to be. But for now he’s just going to rest and imagine this whole island going down in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Suggestions? Does anyone even read this?


	3. bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much everyone who left comments on this! It's the best kind of motivation to continue writing :D
> 
> (character notes are at the end)

 

“So, how is our new friend doing?”

Arthur looks up from the letter he’s examining to meet the inquisitive eyes of his boss. The Governess sets her glass on the table, allowing Goudron to refill it. Arthur, on the other hand, shakes his head at the offer. But she asked him a question, so he thinks in detail about the answer.

“He is… adapting.” Which is probably the only way to describe Antonio’s slightly erratic attitude in the last few weeks?

“I heard what you did to him. Was it really necessary?”

Arthur snorts. “Are you telling me I should be even softer on the spoiled noble?”

The Governess raises an eyebrow, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. “I’m saying; do whatever you want as long as I don’t hear about it. Isn’t that our deal for everything?” She sends him a meaningful look. “And don’t harm his cute face. It would be a pity. We have enough ugly, scarred mugs around here. Sometimes I am in the mood to see a pretty boy or two around.”

“Then buy them.” Arthur deadpans. “Besides, we can’t have him looking too comfortable two weeks from now, do we? Least daddy dearest decides he can prolong his son’s vacation.”

“That, my dearest, leave it to me.”

 

On his way back from the Governess’ palace Arthur decides to take a detour and orders his driver to wait for him under the palm tree by the funeral parlour.

He walks through the muddy streets filled with loud yelling and insufferable odours that he barely notices, having grown completely used to them. He steps over the rotting corpse of a dog and turns a few corners to the central square. The ratty mass of people parts in front of him, not really daring to cross his path. Arthur learned long ago that if he coupled his reputation and position with a stormy expression, nobody would dare to bother him when he wanted to be left alone. His first stop is his favourite armoury. Or rather the backdoor of it, where he picks up a particular order from a smith master that listens and understands a lot but talks very little (mostly because he lacks a tongue). Next are the brewery and, finally, the needlewoman’s house.

He picks up the pair of gloves that he’d ordered a week ago and is about to leave when a simple, red sash catches his attention.

“It’s not for me.” He tells the woman, that is already looking up at him like she’s wondering how to offer one of the richest men on the isle something more elaborated. She always tries to do so, even though Arthur doesn’t pay that much attention to his clothes at all.

Back in his carriage, Arthur looks down at his latest purchase and bites his lower lip, running his fingertips over the sash. Temptation is a mistress hard to resist.

“Home, master?” The carriage driver asks him after a couple of minutes of silence.

Arthur takes another look at the sash, but then shifts his gaze to the other items. He sighs, shaking his head.  “No, to the brothel. I have an appointment.”

 

***

 

It’s been over a month since Antonio’s ship had been boarded by the Barracuda. More than a month since he woke up in Puerto Blanco and decided that he would do anything in his might to survive it.

After a couple of days bedridden, he had been forced to walk again and to work shirtless to speed up the healing of his back. A method he deemed highly dubious, but it’s not like he had been given a shirt to cover himself up anyway, just a pair of pants and ill-fitting shoes. Somehow, probably thanks to Keen-Flame’s balms, he avoided getting an infection.

However, being a young Castilian noble with creamy skin and soft hands, and therefore the embodiment of everything every damned soul on this island - from the pirates to the lowest slaves - hated, did not help matters. But his hands hadn’t remained soft for long and Arthur shot the only man that dared to raise a hand at Antonio on the spot.

At least the housekeeper, Gael, is civil enough to help him out then and there, teaching him the basics of everything he doesn’t know how to do and making sure nobody steals his share of food. Or maybe, she’s just sufficiently intelligent to stay on the good side of her master’s new favourite. But she's a consummated professional, that doesn't look much into his eyes and talks even less. 

In any case, Antonio's whole social interaction and periods of rest had been reduced to the evenings spent between notebooks and maps.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Antonio complains, looking up from the pile of dry onions that he’s been braiding into tight rings all morning; Arthur stumbles past the front gate, looking like someone used him as a doormat for a tribe of goats, but wearing a satisfied shine in his eyes. It’s a surprisingly good look on him.

“I had no idea I was under any obligation to report to you.” He says, smiling cockily.

“You didn’t come back yesterday. We had class.” Antonio crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear stern, but that only earns him a sleazy leer that he’s way too used to by now to be bothered by. Well, to be _much_ bothered by, anyway.

Arthur waves a hand dismissively, yawning. “Yeah, yeah, today we’ll double. Just come find me after five. But I swear to god I’ll shoot anyone who dares to wake me up until then and have you feed their bodies to the pigs.”

“You don’t even own pigs.” Antonio grumbles and stiffens as Arthur swats his ass on his way inside. Damn that man is worse than a drunken Frenchman in a whorehouse.

Watching Arthur disappear into the mansion, yawning, the Spaniard imagines himself returning with gusto all this harassment. He has a long, long list of inappropriate comments and touching that the bastard will someday pay for. Preferably with a good dose of pain.

Shaking the mental picture off, Antonio sighs and goes in search of Gael. He doesn’t particularly care if Arthur actually kills somebody from the house help, but it’s the standard procedure to at least warn the housekeeper that the master is back.

 

He finishes with the onions and ends up cutting wood the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, until Gael instructs him to bring a couple of buckets of water for the kitchen staff. He spills the first one all over himself to cool down and wash off the sweat. Then refills it and makes all the way from the well and back into the house grumbling under his breath about the suffocating Caribbean weather.

By the time the sun clock marks five in the evening his hair and pants are mostly dry again. Antonio takes his time navigating the stairways and the corridors to Arthur’s rooms. He’s dead tired and the newly scarred tissue on his back itches like hell. He resists the urge to scratch at it and bangs on Arthur’s door instead like he’s got something personal against it.

“Hey, princess!! Wake up, it’s time!”

Antonio grins when he hears a muted curse followed by a dull thump from the inside. He contemplates for a second opening the door to catch a disgruntled, pouting Arthur pathetically lying bare-ass naked on the floor, probably tangled in the sheets, but then decides against it for the sake of his own sanity. “I will be in the library. Don’t fall asleep again.” He yells instead and walks down the corridor in considerably higher spirits than before.

 

“I should spank you for this.” Arthur declares groggily, sauntering into the library and flopping down onto his usual chair. He blinks a couple of times, yawns and shakes his head, leaning back on his chair to make a show of studying Antonio’s behind. “Better thought, I should spank you just because yes.”

Antonio rolls his eyes, sliding a couple of sheets under his nose “If you are going to keep talking like a dirty pervert, at least do it in my language while we’re in class. Now translate this text.”

Mumbling under his breath something about not talking like a pervert but actually being one, Arthur reaches out for the quill. He might be a piece of work but, verbal and semi-physical harassment aside, he’s not a bad student. Besides, he already knows English, which is his native language, but also French and Latin, some German and his Spanish is very basic but not the worst that Antonio has ever heard. Suspicious in a relatively young man whose mother, in his own words, had been a whore and his father - unknown. Antonio is positive that must be but a part of his story. There’s no way the son of a prostitute could have received the same education as Antonio, the son of a grandee. Not to mention his possessions, the estate that he barely pays any attention to, and his position as the governess’ right hand.

There’s nothing in the house to give out a hint, but Antonio has a feeling that there are parts missing. Too few pictures on the walls but many marks left where there had been some. None of the servants date back to more than a couple of years ago and don’t know a thing about the ones that came before them. However Arthur got his fortune, he’d taken quite a few precautions to erase that story.

“Gorgeous?”

Well, at least he’s a dedicated pupil. Even if he spends most of the time out in the town or with the Governess, he hasn’t cancelled their daily sessions more than half a dozen times till date. Yesterday included. Although a warning beforehand wouldn’t have hurt. Well, It’s not like Antonio can complain. He used that time yesterday to take a break and read. He’s not used to being stood up, though.

“Hey, sweet-ass-cheeks.”

But yes, Arthur is walking the fine line between being a pretentious, godless asshole and a surprisingly interesting person. Which isn’t to say that Antonio doesn’t hate him with all of his soul, just that if he doesn’t focus on something besides his humiliating situation he’ll go insane.

“Antonio!”

“Ah!” Antonio shakes his head, realising that he’d just spaced out. Arthur is looking at him with a face stuck between amusement and annoyance, holding up the paper with the translation.

“I don’t pay you to daydream, you know?”

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“eeeh, minor details.”

Scrunching up his nose Antonio reaches out for the text and immediately finds a mistake. “No, see, in this case the sea is feminine _se hizo a la mar_ , not _se hizo a el mar_.”

“It was masculine last week!”

“That’s because the phrase was _debajo del mar_.”

“You said it could be either!”

“Not always.”

Arthur throws his head back, groaning, and Antonio chuckles, taking a bit of sadistic pleasure in his keeper’s frustration. Nowadays he tries to take the rare positive moments he can get and savour them for as long as he can. His eyes unintentionally slide down the column of the other man’s throat to his ever-present neck cloth, which is a little loosened today, maybe because Arthur was careless or too sleepy when he put it on before, when-

 

Antonio freezes.

 

“What is this!?” He exclaims, reaching out to grab at the cloth and pull it back, revealing what looks like a complicated series of bruises around Arthur’s neck. He only manages a brief look at them before Arthur catches his wrist in a death grip, shoving his hand away and slapping him across the face half a second later.

Antonio yanks his wrist out and takes a step back, covering his cheek. The most perplexing is how surprised he feels. Arthur hasn’t hit him seriously since the whipping incident. Now he looks pretty uncomfortable, fixing up his neck cloth and stubbornly avoiding Antonio's eyes. 

“I got into a fight earlier.” He says after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’re right. It’s none of my business.” Antonio spats out. Arthur says nothing but sits back behind the desk, picking up the quill.

“I have work to do.” He lies. “We are done for today. Leave me.”

“ _Yes, master._ ” Antonio says with as much sarcasm as he can convey in two words and, after an equally sarcastic bow, slams the door on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goudron is a Barracuda character, but Gael is not.  
> It's not even a name but her nickname, that literally means "from Ireland". Therefore it's supposed to be the nonexistent (to my great indignation) APH Ireland character. I'm still not sure if I'm gonna make her and Antonio become friends, to go along with the historical canon, or leave her in the deep, deep background. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Did you? It was kinda of a transitional one.  
> The next one is almost done too and I'm only gonna say that things escalate quitea bit in there ;)


	4. storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important notes at the end.

 

Puerto Blanco is a pirate harbor. Its economy and activities are mostly based on trading and providing for the various low-lives, thieves, murderers and psychos that use it as their base. The governess’ job consists in milking that relationship and keeping it more or less peaceful and profitable for all parties. However, there’s one law that even the underdogs are unconditionally subjected to: the law of nature.

The sultriness of the last few days finally exploded into a full-on tropical storm. That means an enraged ocean flooding the harbor, buckets of water raining from the sky and winds capable of blowing rooftops away.

Luckily, the Kirkland estate has strong roofs. The boredom though, is impossible to avoid. There’s no way to work outside and there’s nothing more left to clean inside. The slaves and servants are all gathered in the basement, probably gossiping and sharing a rare laugh or two. Antonio, however, is not welcome in their group, even if nobody outright told him so. He wouldn’t fall as low as to seek out their company even if he’d been invited though, no matter how lonely and needy for basic human camaraderie he might have been becoming lately. Circumstances aside, he’s still of noble blood and upbringing. So he barricades himself in his room, the same he woke up in that first morning, with the spears under the window, in the company of some candles and a book borrowed from the library.

It doesn’t catch his attention, and sleep doesn’t look appealing either. Not with the nightmares there to make sure he wakes up even more exhausted than when he went to sleep. Besides, he’s almost used now to working from the first ray of sunlight till moonrise, today’s inactivity makes him feel restless.

With all this free time, his mind keeps going back to two days ago. Unconsciously, he wraps his own hand around his neck lightly, as if trying to map the phantom memory of the marks on Arthur’s skin. He’s not angry about Arthur hitting him. Antonio is not a delicate flower and a slap on the cheek is hardly worse than a mosquito bite, specially with the padding his facial hair provides. Even the humiliation barely adds another drop to the sea he’s already drowning in day by day. It’s the lie what’s irking him.

He’s not sure how he knows that Arthur lied. He just does. Arthur could have just chosen to ignore him (he’d said merely that morning that he was under no obligation to report to Antonio, after all) but instead he blurted out probably the first excuse that popped into his mind.

 

Antonio is laying on his bed, covering his face with the book and running unfocused, undefined scenarios in his mind when he hears steps outside of his door. He doesn’t bother with moving when the door opens without a knock and closes without a word.

He does open his eyes, however, when the book is lifted from his face, meeting Arthur’s gaze, dark green with sparks of gold in the light of the candles.

“Hey” Arthur says with a crooked smile.

“Did you calm your tits already?” Antonio asks, sitting up. Arthur snorts and slaps the back of his neck playfully.

“The mouth on you. Is that a way to talk to your owner?”

“It’s your favourite part of me. Don’t deny it” He probably shouldn’t follow Arthur’s games, but Antonio has always been sassy and it’s difficult not to accidentally  fall into old patterns. The problem with leaving such openings for Arthur is-

“Oh believe me, gorgeous, your mouth is not my favourite part of you. Might be the... third actually, after your blessed ass and that pretty face.” -and there it is.

Antonio sighs “Did you come here just to creep on me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He raises an eyebrow and Arthur chuckles, extending his forearm to show him the folded cloth draped over it. “Stand up and raise your arms.”

Antonio obeys and Arthur unfolds the sash, stepping into his space and personally wrapping it around his waist with slow and ample movements. Taking way too much time to fix the folds and gliding his palms over the uncovered area of Antonio’s sides, back and chest. His rough hands are almost reverent in their care, way too sure in their casual exploration for it to be a mere accident.

The touch burns and Antonio swallows tightly, suddenly nervous. He studies Arthur’s face, past the scar on his temple and those strangely thick eyebrows to his half-closed eyes, under golden eyelashes.

Finally, Arthur ties up the sash and places both of his hands around Antonio’s waist, holding it in a firm grasp. He looks up and when their eyes meet Antonio can read naked lust underneath. Pupils dilated, unfocused, lips parted and so close the beating of his heart is almost deafening.

But then a thunder shakes the house and that breaks the spell. Antonio practically throws himself away, hitting the bed with the back of his knees and crawling backwards until his shoulder meets the wall.

“Jesus, you weren’t joking all this time.” he whispers between ragged breaths.

Arthur looks down at him with a frown, still holding his hands up. He slaps them down his own thighs and sits sideways on the bed, one leg bent under his weight. “You thought I wasn’t being serious?”

Antonio bites his lip. He doesn’t actually know what he’s even asking. Of course he didn’t think Arthur was fake-flirting just to make him uncomfortable, and he’s been subjected to more than one horny look before. However, there had always been something teasing, casual about it. But that of a few seconds ago, that had been... too real.

Antonio’s skin is still pricking with the remains of the sexually charged atmosphere, his pulse seems unable to slow down. He inspires deeply and lets it out, closing his eyes.

When he opens them, the other man is looking down at him with a speculative shadow in his eyes. “I am not going to force myself on you, if that’s what you are worried about.” He says.

Strangely enough, that hadn’t been Antonio’s main worry, even though he realises now that it probably should have been. Right now, legally,  Arthur can do anything with him short of killing him. Including…

He swallows. There’s a knot  down in the pit of his stomach, hot and heavy, and a voice in his head inciting him to bare his teeth and dare Arthur to go and try it if he’s man enough to face what Antonio will do to him in return.

“Am I just supposed to trust your honourable word and benevolent heart, _master_?” He grunts out instead.

“No, trust the lack of those. If doing that was what got me off you’d have woken up the first day drugged up and secured with ropes to my bed. But as I already said, I’m not sure yet if you can give me what I need, so you are safe from my gentle graces, for now.”

Well, that sounds ominous. Also what Arthur is saying about his needs makes little to no sense. He seems to misinterpret Antonio’s thoughtful frown, though, and sighs.

“Are you going to preach to me now about how I am sick and my soul needs to be saved by Jesus? Because you can save it for yourself.”

Antonio winces. Arthur may not know it but he hit a sore spot with these words.

“Your soul is probably already going to hell ten times over, and for sins that are way higher on the list than whom do you choose to bed.”

Arthur drops his chin in surprise, literally taken aback.

“Okay, I expected more Catholic wrath from you.”

“Why? As long as you confess your misdeeds and ask for forgiveness, God will clear your soul. No need to run away and hide yourself in a church for the rest of your life.” He spits out and stares at his own feet with a mix of resentment and bitterness.

Arthur kicks off his boots and pushes himself towards the wall, setting down by Antonio’s side. “Somebody tried to convince you to do that?”

Antonio shots him a weird look and he shrugs. “What? I’m not stupid and I know how to read subtlety. I cracked you the second you checked me out the first time we talked. So, you were telling me?”

“I did not check you out! There’s nothing to check out anyway.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that I’m not your naughty dream material.”

Antonio scrunches up his nose. “I might be sick, but I’m not blind.”

Arthur chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows “Precisely. So, _you were telling me_?” He repeats. But Antonio crosses his arms over his chest, leaning away from him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Too bad. It’s an order.”

“I mean it!” he retorts “It’s a topic I would rather not go into”

“Okay, then who convinced you to not become a monk? I would like to personally thank that altruistic soul for their service.”

“That would be my wife. And if you ever dare to touch her I will chew your head off, keep it in mind.”

 

Arthur almost chokes on his own saliva.

 

“You’re married?!!”

“In a way” Antonio shrugs. “I wonder why would you assume that I wasn’t. I am of age, and men of my social position are required to wed a woman from a good family very young, after all.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest then closes it, frowning. Right… why hadn’t he considered that? “What do you mean, in a way?” He asks instead.

“It means that I married a dear friend and the girl I’ve been betrothed to since childhood. It also means that she knows of my… condition, and accepts my special guests or even that I won’t visit her chambers as along as I ignore what she does with her handmaidens behind closed doors.”

The sound of the storm outside almost drowns Arthur’s reverent whistle. “A convenient deal, without doubt. You lucked out.”

“Yeah” Antonio smiles  _Until your parents start wondering why after two years of marriage there’s no heir on the way yet._ He doesn’t say. It's not even as easy as he made it sound. The guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders even now. Still, he thinks of Sofia every day, thinks about how worried she must be about him and how lucky he is that her fear of the ocean prevented her from accompanying him in his voyage.

“You have someone to return home to.” Arthur says with an enigmatic, sad smile on his face. Antonio thinks that maybe, just maybe, he sounds a little bit lonely. “Even if it’s just a farce.”

“It’s not a farce!” Antonio protests, suddenly irritated “She is my soulmate! My companion for life, whether we sleep together or not. So yes, I have someone to come back to, and you are a fool if you think you can break me before I see her again.”

A lightning splits up the sky, striking the room into high contrast, spearing light and stark shadows and Antonio is blinded for a fraction of a second, for a heartbeat, but a heartbeat is enough. He’s frozen in place , with his shoulders against the bed and Arthur above him. There’s ice in his eyes and the thunder rolls off his tongue rather than from outside.

“Let’s make one thing clear, sweetheart. I am not the one trying to break you. I am the only protection you have from this whole island that would swallow you alive and retch the remains out into the sea. And I’ve been treating you like a fucking king. I could have let you rot in the palace’s dungeons, I could beat you up until you fell unconscious every day and fed you the worms that live in the putrid meat of those who dared to disregard my words. I could have let my slaves have their way with you, or tied a leash around your neck and made you crawl behind me through the whole town till the main square, where I would spend the day selling you for an hour to any low-life, pirate, thief; everyone who was ever even remotely offended by the bloody Spanish Empire; or anyone who’d know what to do with an offering of a tender white piece of ass. I would be in my bloody right to do so. So don’t make the mistake of believing that just because I find you useful and pretty, you are untouchable. Keep trying my patience and you will find out what you _really_ walked into when you left your beloved Spain. I don’t mind your cheek, but you better start appreciating everything I do for you or the next time you call me a fool you _will_ regret it.”

Antonio nods, perplexed, voiceless because really, what could he ever answer to that? And Arthur shakes off whatever came onto him and visibly relaxes, sogging over the Spaniard's tense chest. “You could have at least thanked me for my gift.”

“Thank you.” Antonio mumbles, not yet fully back to himself, but the satisfied smile across Arthur’s lips brings back a fraction of his courage after a good minute or two “even if I would have preferred a shirt.”

“Hmm… but I keep you around like eye candy and that colour looks so good on you, I already told you so.”

Antonio gulps, remembering when exactly Arthur first stated that he liked red on him. “When I was bleeding out from your whip. I hope you realise how that’s really creepy and not very confidence-inspiring.”

Arthur chuckles and Antonio feels that smile against the skin of his shoulder. It gives him chills but he doesn't dare to move. “Well, I’m being relatively good to you, that doesn’t make me inherently a good man.” Arthur shifts up and hums into Antonio’s hair, who turns his head slightly in the opposite direction, staring intently at the blackened window, that's doing its best to hold up against the pressure of the rain and the wind behind it.

 

“I really need to go back home.” Antonio says after a while. He doesn't know how much time they spend lying together like that, listening to the storm, but it makes him think that at least he’s dry and warm, safe from the enraged ocean and everything else that lurks outside. He’s allowed his tense muscles to unwind a bit, sinking into the bed with a good part of Arthur’s weight over him. The other man is completely pliant, pressing against his side with an arm thrown around Antonio’s middle.  Not a trace of that authoritative and terrifying attitude from before.  His breathing is regular, teasing the delicate skin behind Antonio’s ear.  Despite everything, it's a comfortable position. One that warms up the Spaniard's insides and weaves a false sense of security around them like an invisible cocoon, reminding him of how needy he is for basic human contact and making him forget whom he’s really with, prompting him to bare his soul a bit.

“It’s not just because of my wife, family and friends, or my name, my duty or just my freedom, you know?”  For a second he thinks he’s talking to himself, but Arthur’s fingers tighten against his ribs signalling that he’s not asleep, and his thumb starts tracing slow circles over Antonio’s skin, encouraging him to continue.

“Castile is a gruff and austere land. Dry and unwelcoming, but if you are born there or if you manage to put down your roots in its soul and crack its secrets,  it becomes all that you are. I don’t carry my motherland in my heart, I left it there and it keeps calling for me. I never understood how so many could just leave and never come back. Every time I stand on the top of a tower and look around, at the endless sea of fields as far as the eye can see, I can feel its pulse, I can read the aeons of history written in its shapes and I feel so insignificant in comparison but at the same time stronger than anyone else ever did. I know I’m a part of something bigger, something invincible. And when I finally die, I can’t be buried anywhere but there. I... I have to go home. I need to, Arthur.”

“I’ll see to it.”  Arthur mumbles and, for some reason, when Antonio closes his eyes, he fully believes it.

 

***

 

When Antonio wakes up the next day, gulping desperately for air and covered in cold sweat, it’s to a cloudless sunrise and an empty bed. Crawling out of the tangle of sheets he realises that he’s still wearing the red sash that Arthur gave him. He probably shouldn’t have slept in something that restricts him, but right now the extra support and coverage is appreciated. Shivering and shaking the weird inquietude off himself Antonio leaves his room.

With the damage the storm must have done, he’s going to have a lot of work today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things:
> 
> 1\. Sofia is Fem!Austria. Yeah, I managed to sneak my other OTP in here, although conveniently platonic. Well, they were married in canon, so...  
> Heta-wiki said this was her usual fan-name. In tumblr they recommended Anneliese too, but I liked Sofia best. 
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. The next week there's not going to be any updates, at least not on schedule. For two reasons: the first one is that I'm going to be in A Coruña in Saturday. Did you know that city was the scenario one of the most interesting and unique anglo-spanish incidents ever?
> 
> The second reason is that 8/24 is around the corner and I NEED TO FINISH THE STORY I'M WRITING FOR IT AAAAAAAAH!!!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. How are you liking this so far? This chapter was pretty hard to write and I'm proud how it turned out. Validate me, please xDDD


	5. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE:
> 
> Using the em dash (—) instead of quotation marks to introduce dialogue is a romance languages system. I didn't want to be mentioning in the story every two seconds when they changed languages or to write half this chapter in Spanish and therefore make those of my readers that don't speak it have to check the translations all the time.  
> (I might have also been too lazy to write those translations too, I just know it)
> 
> So when the dialogue is introduced with an em dash it means that it's being spoken in Spanish.

 

_The sky is in flames. Dark blue and pale like the first snow of December. The sky is in flames and the water is the retching of the devil’s mouth, pitch black as it reaches out, slips between his pores and into his mouth and ears and nose. He can’t breathe. The cabin cedes to the pressure, there’s black water everywhere and the pirates, creatures of bone and rotting flesh, tear the crew’s limbs apart with their teeth, blood and salty water and it’s everywhere, the pressure weighing down on him. Antonio runs and runs and he can’t move, the water has him and won’t let go, every second the light is further away and he tries to reach out for it but he can’t breathe and the pressure is crushing him, there’s water everywhere and the ship is melting away under his feet. Lost forever to Davy Jones' locker. He can’t breathe, can’t breathe, he takes a gulp of air but only water fills his lungs and he can’t-_

 

Antonio opens his eyes and immediately jumps off the bed, heaving greedily for air and shaking like a leaf. His stomach turns inside out and he hurls, almost banging his forehead against the floor, but only sleazy yellowish bile comes out. He can’t stop shaking, freezing cold and sweating buckets at the same time. The sound that comes out of his throat is pitiful and ragged, like a hurt animal.

“Wow, you are a mess.”

He looks up, meeting the eyes of one of the young slaves from the fishing crew. The boy stands in the doorway blinking confusedly. He seems torn between running, chased away by the murderous look Antonio sends him, and laughing out loud.

“Out.” Antonio hisses, with all the authority of a man born into the role of a Lord.

All traces of gloating abandon the kid’s face and he takes a small step back, scrunching his nose up in derision. “I- Gael said that you should have-”

“I said OUT!” Antonio shouts and, grabbing the first thing at hand, which turns out to be a rather thick copy or _Historia Augusta_ , launches it at the boy, who squeals and jumping out of the book’s way, runs down the corridor. That leaves Antonio, still slightly trembling and heaving, sprawled on the floor with his head between his knees. He focuses on his breathing, in and out, in and out.

As he was expecting, Gael comes in fuming from indignation five minutes later. However, it takes her one look at his face to visibly cool down.

“Again?” she asks with a weary sigh, and he nods.

“You know, I was gonna have you tend to the gardens today, but I think we are going to need to chop a couple of trees down. The kitchen staff is getting short on wood.”

Antonio confirms with his head again, swallowing tightly. “Thanks.”

 

She says nothing when she leaves but Antonio gets up on unstable feet and goes to pick up an axe, feeling more determined by the second. It’s as close to the security of a sword in hand as he’s gonna get, so he spends the rest of the day taking his frustrations out on the local flora, almost matching the perplexed Hale, a massive but mild-tempered slave, in strength just by the sheer power of his horrible mood.

“What are you looking at?” He grunts out at some point and Hale huffs, shaking his head and turning his back to him.

 

Luckily, by the time the evening rolls around and he has to go meet up with Arthur, he’s not so anxious anymore, just tired and mildly irritated with everything in general.

— New learning method — He says, marching into the library, where Arthur is already sorting through one of his books. — From now on, we are going to talk exclusively in Spanish between us.

— That’s going to be complicated. — Arthur arches one eyebrow, not looking up. — I’m guessing you miss your language?

— And you need the practice.

— We are doing history and geography today. — He says hesitantly, accentuating too heavily his words. They will have to work on that, Antonio thinks

— Irrelevant.

“What’s gotten into you today again?” Arthur sighs, abandoning Antonio’s suggestion, which wasn’t actually a suggestion, in favour of catching the Spaniard’s chin between his index and thumb, turning his head to look him in the face. “When was the last time you slept well?”

— Two days ago. — Antonio turns his head away, looking at the bookshelves — I am fine, it’s not the lack of sleep in itself.

“No, it’s that last week you woke up half the house with your screams, and Gael told me what happened this morning.”

— I am fine!  Can we please work on your education for once?

“Are you gonna keep speaking to me in Spanish?”

— As long as we are in this room, yes. And since you were the one who wanted to learn, I expect you to do the same.

Arthur hums, leaning his jaw on the palm of his hand. “Then I should probably give you the good news now, before we begin.”

— Good news?

“Well, good for you. You’ve been here for almost five months now, you know?”

It's true. The pass of time is tortuously slow when every day is a tedious mixture of boredom and hell, but every night is a dreaded horror. The lack of season changes in the Caribbean doesn't help much. It's been maybe just little bit chillier lately, but not not enough for Antonio to warrant a shirt, apparently. He misses the sight of forests dressed in a mantle of golds and rubies as autumn covers his motherland in a mantle of melancholy and the rehearsed dread of upcoming winter. 

— Believe me, I’m well aware of every day hour and minute.

“Your father sent the first part of his payment and it finally arrived. However, the galleon is heavily guarded and he needs proof of life before surrendering the gold. So he sent someone to identify and talk to you. In four days you’re going to meet with a familiar face. If that’s not enough to lift a bit your spirits, I don’t know what is.”

It is, in fact, enough. Like a god's balm over his scarred psyche that makes him forget for a moment the ailments of his day.

“Really?! Whom did he send?” Antonio exclaims excitedly. Probably someone from his council or the family's personal guard who knows Antonio well enough. Right now he would be happy to see even the woman that does his laundry, as long as it’s someone from back home.

“Hm... Dunno, some monk or a priest. The messenger didn’t go into detail.  Probably your father thinks we wouldn’t dare to hurt a servant of God.”

“Father Bernard?” Antonio smiles but then taps on his chin thoughtfully. “That’s weird. He’s kinda old for travelling long distances.”

“Maybe he thought you are overdue for a confession?”

Antonio laughs involuntarily at that. It does sound like father Bernard. “Probably. He’s been my family’s confessor since before I was born. I remember him telling me to confess my sins when I was nine years old. You can imagine my honest repentance about crushed bugs and the occasional little lie to my mom’s maidens.”

Arthur smiles at that too. “You were probably a disgustingly sweet kid.”

“I was a little monster, according to everyone I know. Probably still better than you, though.”

He realises his mistake when the curve of Arthur’s smile turns sharp. “The circumstances hardly compare, don’t you think? Your mother had her maidens, mine was a whore.”

“Sorry.” Antonio mumbles, a little subdued, but Arthur doesn’t look offended. He waves it off, chuckling. “Enough with the gossip. You were telling me about the Suebi last history session?”

— Right, Monday. And back to Spanish meanwhile. At least try, okay?

“Aye, aye”

— Arthur…

— You were telling me about the Suebi?

— Yup. — Antonio shifts, spreading his hands over the map on the table — As I already told you, the Visigoth Kingdom used to occupy most of what nowadays is the Confederation of Hispanic Kingdoms and a part of France. But before that it used to be divided into individual territories that had been invaded by different northern tribes following the fall of Rome.

— ¿And where do the Vikings feature into this?

— Nowhere. Pay attention. So the Suebi were established in Gallaecia, what is now the north-west of Castile, Galiza and a good part of Portugal. Their reign was cut short when their Visigoth neighbours, after having unified the rest of the peninsula decided to incorporate the Suebi kingdom into their own.  [...]

 

***

 

After finishing the lesson with Arthur Antonio returns to work. He stays up way after everyone else went to bed, taking advantage of the light from the full moon. The ocean bathes the shores in the distance and Antonio knows that even if he could just swim out of that bloody island, he wouldn't dare to get into the deep, dark water. It makes him feel absolutely powerless.

Well past the midnight he collapses on his bed so exhausted he knows he won’t dream tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was advised to pace out a little the action, show in the story that time is passing and a little bit of Antonio's life and his relationships with others, including Arthur.  
> I considered that and decided to rewrite the beginning, chopping this chapter in two and uniting the next two too. Hope this helped with the ambientation issue ^^


	6. blood of the covenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, it's not a drill.  
> I repeat!!! It's NOT A DRILL. 
> 
> This story is active again, if anybody even cares anymore xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. It literally took me one year to write this batch of chapters and I have no way to explain that epic delay (you have to admit it - it's epic!) 
> 
> Anyway, I strongly suggest re-reading AT LEAST the previous chapter to know where this one picks up. 
> 
> Also I know people expected porn from this story. Don't worry, it's coming soon. 
> 
> PS: remember that when the em dash (—) is used instead of quotes, it means they are speaking Spanish.

“Nervous?” Arthur smirks, and Antonio pauses in his pacing to send him an unimpressed glare. Arthur can’t even imagine how much. He’s sprawled over  the plush looking chair in the meeting room, a glass of rum in hand while the other man seems determined to wear a hole in the carpet. 

“Of course I am. Father Bernard will be here any second!” He couldn’t wait. 

Truth be told, he never liked the old priest that much, but right now there’s nothing in the world that he wants more than to see him again. Arthur chuckles and Antonio almost pouts, offended by the mockery. 

“Adorable.” 

Arthur means it, mostly. Antonio has this set of confusing mannerisms that turn him into a slightly frustrating but also a funny guy, and it’s never boring to be around him. He changes his mood  in seconds and can go from depressed to euphoric and from meek to the wrath of God so fast that Arthur loses track. But without doubt, his favorite is when the man’s attention is completely focused on him. He always mourns a little bit when Antonio turns his focus from his keeper to anything else. Like right now, because the door is opening and, trailing after one of the servants, is a man wrapped in a habit. 

Arthur frowns. Antonio didn’t tell that his family’s confessor was a benedictine monk. Besides, he walks too straight and his steps are firmer than those of an old man. He hears Antonio gasp loudly, but then the visitor lifts the hood from his face and Arthur almost drops his glass. 

He stares at the young man for a good minute, then carefully shifts his gaze to a perplexed Antonio, back at the monk, studying his features, then down at his glass. 

Okay, he probably should stop drinking right now if he’s already seeing double. 

But then the newcomer opens his arms in a welcoming gesture, with a small smile and a soft  _ “Hola, hermanito.” _ and Antonio runs across the room, practically throwing himself into his embrace. 

The monk clasps his arms around Antonio’s frame, hugging him tightly and they remain like that for minutes until the monk starts shooing and lets go of Antonio’s back to take his face between his palms and kiss his forehead. 

There’s a wet giggle coming from Antonio and okay, Arthur is officially at loss, although he’s beginning to suspect what’s going on there. Still, he clears out his throat, and when that doesn’t work he does it again, louder. 

The two men notice him now, Antonio turning around with a smile and rubbing at his reddened eyes. 

“Ah, Arthur. This is Henrique.” He chuckles and continues before Arthur can open his mouth to say anything “-and no, we are not twins. As I’ve been saying since we were in our teens, he is older and I am cuter.” 

Both men look back at each other at that and burst out in a matching laugh, the complicit kind, that comes from an inner joke that only the two of them can understand.

That’s… new. No information that Arthur had on Antonio revealed the existence of an elder brother. Antonio has been announced as the family’s sole heir. Then again, he didn’t know about the marriage either. Puerto Blanco’s intel basically runs on rumors. Which is to say: it’s seldom accurate. 

“Well…” He says, looking from one brother to another. Antonio is back to sniffing and the other noble caresses his hair in a tender tandem, a little bit teary-eyed as well. Arthur certainly can see the striking resemblance “No need to fight ladies, you are both very, very pretty. Certainly that’s a picture I want to keep in my mind for the lonely nights.”

Henrique’s face turns sour after an instant of surprise, but Antonio just rolls his eyes.

“Not even in front of a priest? Really, Arthur?”

“What can I say? No God, no Country, no King for me.”

“You are not a pirate.” Antonio points out. 

“As if I were.”

“Lord Kirkland,” Henrique interrupts him. “I would like to speak to my brother alone.”

“I don’t think I can accommodate that, Reverend.” Arthur shakes his head. I need to be witness to whatever interaction the two of you have. 

“Please…” Antonio insists. “It’s my brother and he’s a man of God. What could he do?”

“Whatever you two have to say, you can say it with me here.”

“I need to confess.” Antonio tries again. But it’s the pleading look in his eyes what pricks at Arthur’s numb heart, not his religious inquietudes. 

“Fifteen minutes.” He warns. “I’m gonna go and make sure that the Father’s carriage is prepared to take him back to the Galleon. The quicker the Governess has her money the happier we’ll all be.” He stands up from the chair, pointedly looking at the other brother. It’s a pity that his entire frame is covered by that shapeless habit. He’s just as good looking as his younger sibling. It should be a crime to let a face as pretty as that one be hidden from the rest of the world in a monastery. 

When the door closes behind him, Henrique turns to his brother with a frown on his face. 

—  I don’t like the way he looks at you.

— _That_ is your biggest concern right now? Because it sure as hell isn’t mine. Not with everything that’s happening to me, that has happened. —  Antonio crosses his arms over his chest.  

— I didn’t mean that...   — Henrique shakes his head and looks down at the floor.  — What did they do to you, my little one?  — When he looks up at Antonio again there’s fear and regret in his eyes, but also a hard resolve. So antonio turns around, letting his brother see the messy network of healed scars on his back, the skin still tender and paler even after months of healing. 

— Oh Lord! 

Antonio turns back, to face his horrified sibling again, and steps closer, resting his forehead on Rique’s shoulder. 

—  I missed you so much. — He confesses, burrowing his face in the dirty habit that smells like his brother, like their youth. — I had to be kidnapped by pirates to see you for the first time in four years. What a shame. 

Henrique swallows, tensing up but not stepping away. On the contrary, the draws his brother closer, tears blurring his vision. 

— Me too. — Henrique whispers, feeble even to his own ears. He’s always been a man of strong morale and even stronger heart. But too soft, too compassionate and loving for the world that he was born into. —  I wish we’d done so many things differently. But the habit is who I am, you know that, right? I’m only here because father sent me a missive, I still don’t know how he managed to find me, with what happened to you and asking me to come see you. I thought I would drop dead right there when I read his letter. I was so worried about you… It should have been me. It should have been me in your place. Or neither of us… if you had only listened to me-

— And what? Hide away in a church in another kingdom like you did? Somebody had to carry on the family name,  _ Reverendíssimo. _

— Antonio! — Henrique’s voice took on a warning tone, drawing away.

— At least I would have had a reason! Not you… you abandoned us! — Antonio raises his voice accusingly, not thinking clearly about what he’s saying or that this is not the time nor the place for such conversation. The years of silent resentment spilling out of his trembling lips — You abandoned me! I needed you, I begged you! You, more than anyone else! I needed your love and your guidance. I needed you…

Antonio can’t continue further as a series of hiccups break his voice, tears running down his cheeks. 

— I had to… — Henrique tries to excuse himself, not daring to step closer, to offer comfort like he wants to — I had committed the worst of sins, I had to cleanse my soul, you just don’t understand…

— The only thing you did was protecting the people you love, your family! — Antonio shots out despite the squawks in this voice. — If you hadn’t killed him first that man would have gotten mother and me, and eventually you. He was a mercenary! You did not commit any murder! You just ran away from us! You… —  He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. — Do you think I care that it should have been you, as the heir, on that ship? Do you think I resent you leaving the family only because it’s what got me into this mess? Hell, if I had followed your advise and left with you, to attone for the illness burning inside me, to keep it contained, then I wouldn’t be here either. No, I am here because of bad luck and my own mistakes. What I resent you for is that you left me when I needed you the most. When I was young and confused and scared. So don’t come here now preaching that it should have been you getting stuck in this island and whipped down, because even after your betrayal and after everything I’ve lived through, I’d still have taken your place if it was my choice. But… I just wish none of this had happened at all. —  He doesn’t make any sense, not even to his own ears, his feelings spilling out of his lips without order or reason. Henrique just looks at him, infinite sadness in his dark, green eyes. 

But Antonio keeps crying and he can’t stop himself. His emotions, worries, his entire life have been feeling like locked up in a bubble lately. This feels like a burst, like a tiny crack that allows some of it to spill out. Henrique hugs him tight and Antonio grasps at the terse fabric of the habit, pouring his heart out along with his tears. 

“Well, now you’re up-” Arthur walks in without knocking, sees the crying fest and promptly shuts up. “- you’ve got two minutes.” He concedes, turning on his heel and walking out straight the way that he came from. 

— I love you. — Henrique draws away, leaning in to kiss Antonio’s forehead. We will get your out of here as soon as we can, you’ll see. Don’t let this island get the upper hand, please.

— I love you too, so much. — Antonio nods, managing a weak smile in return — And I know but… I don’t really know anything about the island — He confesses — Arthur is keeping me locked inside his property. But I hear things, rumors and conversations about terrible things, terrible people and deeds. Of what happens out of here. I feel like I should feel grateful to him for that, but it scares me, you know? It’s like I’m living inside of a cage that keeps me prisoner as much as it protects me from the beasts outside. 

— You never enjoyed being left out —  Henrique concedes, shrugging — But for this once, be content with your ignorance and stay put where you are. Promise me you will, even if it’s only for the sake of your brother's peace of mind. 

— I will do my best. 

— Not good enough. 

Antonio smiles, leaning in to kiss Henrique’s cheek. He takes his brother’s hands in his and kisses them too. By God, but he missed that big softie. 

— I will survive, I give you my word. Be careful on the way back and pray for me?

— I haven’t done anything else since I left. 

The sun is already nearing the horizon when Henrique makes his way back to the Galleon. He’d drawn the curtains the the carriage shut during the ride, unable to look again at the corpses hanging from poles along the road; remains of slaves that disrespected their owners; orphans that stole from the wrong men and pirates that dared to cheat the Governess or the island’s wealthiest. He grips the rosary around his neck and doesn’t order the driver to stop when he hears the desperate pleads of a woman for help. The thought of his baby brother trapped in this godless pit makes him want to burn it down to ashes, until there’s no grain of sand left  He gets into the rowing boat that brought him to shore and doesn’t look back.

The captain receives his confirmation -  yes, it’s really the heir or his family who is prisoner in the island and alive - and watches apathetically as the sailors load the coffins of money and jewels to transport them to shore. There’s a worm in his chest, eating his heart alive, whispering at him words of hatred and revenge. 

He orders for the man carrying one of the coffins to stop. Opening it, Henrique selects a silver dagger from the top of the pile and slices his palm with it. Everyone freezes, stops whatever they are doing to watch in silence the blood of a man of God trickle down and stain the gold in scarlet. A curse of an inevitable doom, and a promise, as blood calls to blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Old fanart is lazy and old. But people were tagging it as Spain, which was really amusing to me xDD


	7. wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His world is enclosed in a bubble, hooked on a routine. Then it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaah~ I'm so glad the return of this story got such a warm welcome ♥
> 
> I think I forgot to mention that the updates would be every other week. Anyway, have chapter nº7. Hope you like it!
> 
> As a reminder - [Here are some of the characters mentioned in this story](http://salytierra.tumblr.com/post/148209369878/barracuda-characters-mentioned-in-chapters-12-of) that had been borrowed from the Barracuda comics. [And this is another batch](http://salytierra.tumblr.com/post/165296399408)! (Gauldrón and Lord Flynn) - just in case you want to put a face to the name. 

 

 

_The ship is burning against the horizon and sinking on sight. Antonio is trapped on the shore, yelling, crying for the rescue, trying to get into the water and swim towards there, to help, do anything. But his feet refuse to move. The ship is burning and disappearing under the water and he can almost touch it but it’s too far away. The water swallows it and Antonio is standing safe at the shore but he can’t breathe, he can’t because he just knows… Something slides against his feet in the water. He looks down and sees a torn benedictine habit -_

Antonio wakes up with an agonized scream.

 

*******

 

His nightmares get rarer but progressively worse after Henrique sails away. It’s not just him who’s afraid of the ocean now, but his brother has a long journey back home. Rationally, he knows that it’s not the deep waters what he fears but those who lurk among the waves, wolves of the sea, hungry for blood and young flesh. Mad from months under the merciless caribbean sun. Blackdog and others like him. However, somehow it’s more dignified to let everyone believe that he fears the Atlantic. The sea is always respected and being afraid of it is not cowardice, it’s natural in many. The sea is a merciless God that can give you everything you want or take it from you. The sea doesn’t care about titles or surnames, doesn’t understand loyalty to a crown or rebellion against it. Fearing the sea is forgivable on this island. Fearing men? Not so much.

So antonio works all day, until his muscles are about to give up. It helps him not to think, allows him to focus on a repetitive task and clear his head from useless worries. Then he ties the red sash around his waist and spends a couple hours with Arthur, teaching him about anything and everything; sometimes deviating from the topic to matters of the island, politics or literature; after that he goes back to his work until the sun sets behind the waves in the distance. Then he tracks the well walked path to fill a couple of buckets of clean water in the stream and takes the opportunity to wash off the sweat from his body. It’s just a stream, dark water but sweet and barely a few feet wide, not even deep enough to reach his knees. There are no pirates in the stream, he can’t drown in it, he can’t sink…

He washes himself and then comes back and leaves the buckets in the kitchen. His stomach is always complaining by then and he asks the cook for his portion of bread for dinner. He catches it mid-air and chews on it on his way up to his room.

It’s a riffle, really. He places a bet with himself every night over whether he’s going to have nightmares or not.

Rinse and repeat, day after day, night after night.

 

*******

 

Antonio wakes up before sunrise, rolling on his back and inspiring deeply. He slept barely enough to let his body recover some energy and knows that today he wouldn’t manage to fall asleep anymore. Crawling out of bed he lights up a candle and, very carefully, pads to the library. It’s dark and empty, but the smell of old books is inviting enough. For the lack of anything better to do, and to distract himself from his growling stomach, he sits behind the desk and starts preparing that evening’s lesson with Arthur.

A couple of hours later and with the first rays of sunlight hitting the red oak of the shelves, the house starts to wake up. On the top floor only he, Gael and Arthur sleep, but the voices come from downstairs. He can recognize whom they belong to from the tone alone. Seems like Grin and Palle are arguing again. The two massive men get along poorly and if it continues like this Antonio is sure that Arthur will order Gael to exchange one of them in the slave market, unless she gets fed up first and does it herself. Antonio hopes it’s Palle. The ugly idiot keeps “accidentally” bumping into him and spitting after Antonio passes by. Grin is creepy, especially when he smiles in that unsettling way of his, but at least he keeps his distance.

He hears a set of footsteps nearing and knows they are Gael’s. The housekeeper has a slight limp from a years old injury that only manifests in the early morning and on the rainy days. It’s a little bit depressing, to realise that he’s been living here long enough to have seen at least a dozen rainy days. In the caribbean.

Antonio doesn’t dwell on that thought tho. If he did he’d risk it spiralling down.

He gets downstairs just in time for the fishing crew to come back, carrying with them that night’s catch, still tangled in the nets. A single head nod from Gael is enough and he sets to help untangle it and sort it into buckets. It means he’ll have breakfast later than the rest, but also that it will probably include some of that fish and seafood, if the cook runs out of yesterday’s stuff. Arthur is not stupid, he knows a servant well fed in the morning works better during the day, however that doesn’t mean the food has to be necessary fresh, as long as it's edible. The kitchen is strictly instructed to not let anything go to waste.

And that’s just it, the little bubble his world has been reduced to. A status-quo of never ending days and never-ending work. Same faces every day, same routines, no word on his own volition. The longer it goes on, the less Antonio seems to be in control of his own body and mind.

“Antonio, come help me out with this!” Gael calls for him one day around midday and he abandons the hanging carpet he was beating the shit and the dust out of with a stick to see what she wants. Gael is standing in front of a row of bottles with a paper in hand.

“Is that for the party?” He asks.

Pirate harbor or not, Puerto Blanco also has its elites. Retired pirates that collected enough fortune to ensure a good life for their wives, mistresses and kids; men that stole from their masters on land and came to the only place where they could spend their fortune without anyone coming after them; privateers that don’t trust their kings to keep their word ten years from now; slave traders and local “businessmen” that offer irreplaceable services to the formerly listed… All of them building lavish mansions, riding in heavily protected carriages and pretending to live the life of the nobility. Arthur is one of them and the Governess -  the most distinguished figure in on the Island.

Arthur hates these events; where he has to put on clean, expensive clothes that his boss’ chamber women select for him and pretend to care about intrigues he has no interest in. However, it’s part of his job, life, and a good way to collect intel and knowledge about what’s happening outside of the island.

The problem comes when it’s _his_ turn to host it.

Oh boy! He turns so grumpy one would think he’s the one that has to clean every millimeter of the mansion in and out, organize the estate, obtain the ingredients, prepare the food, _clean the goddamn carpets_. This is the first time he’ll do it since Antonio lives here, but from what the other servants were reminiscing during breakfast, they are in for a very intense week.

“These were stolen from a French merchant ship. Highest quality wines and other liquors. The problem is that the descriptions are in French and I have no idea what is the etiquette for alcohol on these posh parties anyway. The previous times the Governess sent Gauldrón to help me out. But this time, since we have you, I figured it would be enough.”

Antonio smirks sideways at her. He omits commenting that these filthy animals probably could hardly distinguish a ten years old Bordeaux from a sugared bottle of grape wine from the Rin. Still, he takes one of the wine bottles in hand, reading the label attached to it with a cord.

“This is a white from the north-west of France. Serve it to someone important and refined with a fish course, preferably.”

Gael nods, taking a piece of paper off the table and writing down an annotation next to a name. “For Lord Flynn then. He has French roots if I’m not mistaken and prefers fish to meat, at least when it comes to food.”

“Is that the guest list?” Antonio glances over her shoulder at the list of names with annotations about their importance and charges.

“Yes. Old, sadistic perverts and their underage mistresses or uptight wives. Arthur should be the one doing this, since he knows them all, but master is content with any rum and has better things to do anyway, like hide in his library reading correspondence, and so it falls to me to play guess who.” She sighs, waving the list in front of Antonio’s face, who catches it, checking over the thirty or so names, scribbled down in Arthur’s laziest handwriting, until one of them attracts his attention.

His blood runs cold.

Antonio has to lean on the table to keep upright. His vision veils over for a second as his heart jumps on a race against itself in a matter of an instant. Somewhere in the distance he can hear the drowned voice of Gael, but all his brain can pick on is the deafening sound of the sea hitting the sides of a ship and the screech of metal against metal.

“Antonio! Antonio what?!”

Gael calls out as he sprints down the corridor and up the stars, the list crumpled in this shaking fist. He bursts into the library at full speed, startling Arthur to death and slamming the paper down under his nose.

“ _Blackdog_ is going to be here!?”

It takes Arthur approximately ten seconds to process his question. Ten seconds in which Antonio holds his breath and Gael peeks from behind the doorframe, takes one look at the scene and very prudently decides not to intervene.

“He already is here. On the island.” Arthur finally answers. “But I don’t see how this is of your incumbency.”  

Antonio slumps into a chair, hiding his face in his hands and doing his best to control his breathing. He doesn’t understand why is he reacting in such a way. He honestly expected to freeze in terror whenever he saw that animal again, and maybe he will if the time ever comes. However, right now, the thin filament of fear feels engulfed into a sea of hate, resentment and ire. He is shaking, not because he’s terrified but because he’s trying to hold himself back from grabbing an axe and going in search of that rotten man to chop his head off his shoulders. He sees behind his eyelids the corpses of his trusted guard, his countrymen, hears the women cry and the pirates laugh. He can’t help but blame Blackdog for the boarding and everything that happened to him since then. Every transgression, every humiliation and every wound… Even those that never happened.  He has repeated nightmares that  he remembers every second of ; the Barracuda firing its cannons against another ship, of blood of his own, his dearest elder brother abroad, chest torn from a cannonball shot and broken rosary beads spilling from his cold hands.

Antonio is not afraid of Blackdog, he’s afraid for the world, as long as the Barracuda and its captain exist in it. If only he could-

“Antonio! Antonio!”

If only he could just...

“Antonio, listen to me! For fuck’s sake! Shit! Come back here…” A voice that he knows, somewhere beyond the storm in his head. A way out…

He follows it  until he can’t hear the cannons anymore. Then opens his eyes.

Arthur is kneeling on the carpet on front of him, looking straight into his eyes. He’s worried and a little bit pissed off, but his face is calm and he’s holding Antonio’s elbows in his hands.

There’s something in that picture; his keeper and supposed master on his knees, between his legs, that just rings a string in Antonio’s chest. He’s still riled up from his panic attack and not entirely in control of his own body and emotions, still furious without a way to release that tension, so when he’s strung by a sudden impulse to grab at Arthur’s messy hair and pull back with force, he follows it.

He only realises what he’s doing when Arthur hisses in pain. Strangely enough, his hands on Antonio’s forearms don’t leave, but relax their hold, and his lips part in a loud exhale. Antonio is frozen in place, conscious that he fucked up and wondering why hasn’t he been punched and shoved away yet. He lets go when Arthur lowers his eyelids, heart beating so hard and fast he can almost feel it in his throat, and stands up so abruptly the chair overturns.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what…”

Arthur blinks a couple of times, his eyes regaining part of their usual sharpness, and clears his throat, looking away for some reason. “It’s okay, you were panicking, it was expected that you’d react violently if I touched you.” He bites on his lip, a hint of a smile barely stretching his lips, gaze still focused on some spot near the window.

That secretive attitude unnerves Antonio way more than a punch to the gut would. _What? Just what??_

But he’s still riled up and afraid that if Arthur keeps acting out of character he’ll be the one to punch him just to start a fight and set something straight. He’s not in the mood to get whipped again though, so turning on his heel he walks out of the library, striding down the corridor past Gael and back to his hanging carpet. He picks up the stick and resumes his previous work. He swings and hits it with all his strength and bottled up rage, confusion and grief,  but it doesn’t bring him the satisfaction he seeks. Mindless, violence against inanimate objects it’s just not enough, not what he truly needs.

His mind flashes back to Arthur, so meek at his feet, at his mercy, and he gets a jolt of something primal and dark in his gut.

Later, later he’ll think about what he’ll do when, if ever, he sees Blackdog again. For now, he just needs to take it all out until his muscles scream from exertion and he can’t feel anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get kinkier soon, so stay tuned up for more ;)


	8. leash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beautiful readers! ♥  
> I'm publishing a day early this time because tomorrow I'm starting a 5-day bike journey along the way of St. James. So no computer and updating with my phone would have been a pain in the ass. 
> 
> Anyway, Enjoy this new chapter. For those of you that are expecting for things to get racier, this will feel like a nice teaser ;) 
> 
> __  
> Btw: the collar that Arthur confectioned is similar to this design. It's very simple, so I guess it wouldn't have been impossible for it to have been made in the modern period. 
> 
> Collar  
> https://www.mr-s-leather.com/images/items/MISC261-300.jpg?t=1433923201  
> Collar in use  
> https://www.mr-s-leather.com/images/items/MISC261-3.jpg?t=1413331919

 

“Is this truly necessary?” Antonio snaps, trying not to lash out and punch Arthur, who's just adjusting the collar around his neck. He feels the heavy weight of it, the leather not soft enough yet to be comfortable, and digging into his skin, pulling down due to the chain attached to it. It’s a clever design: pulling on the chain tightens the collar, cutting out his air supply and, if used with enough strength, could even break his neck.

“I’m really sorry.” Arthur sighs, and he sounds for the most past sincere. “But the governess wants you to show up at the party and I don’t trust you not to do something foolish, like attacking her or her guests.”

“You mean guest.” Antonio mumbles under his breath. “I won’t do anything. Hell, I might even freeze up and piss myself the moment I see Blackdog.”

“Or you might let your temper get the upper hand.” Arthur raises an eyebrow, testing the padlock that secures the buckle. “The fact that you look gorgeous while furious doesn’t really make up for you getting killed. This is for your own good.”

“Why? Putting me in a cage would have cost too much?” Antonio sneers.

“Well, it wouldn't have been cheap, for sure. Although to be fair, neither was confectioning this collar urgently, but I thought you’d appreciate being able to walk around, talk, eat and drink.”

“And being treated like an animal.”

“Yes, but more like an exotic and rare creature, a beauty to be admired and treasured, rather than a rabid, mindless beast. Which is what the cage would have suggested.” He gives the chain a light tug, but it’s enough to close the gap between the collar and Antonio’s throat. Not choking him yet, but definitely uncomfortable. “I’ll even let you choose who will be keeping you on the leash all night.”

Antonio sighs. Seeing no way out of this. The Governess was very insistent that the captive noble, that so much money was going to make her win, should attend the party. To decorate and class it up a bit, as she’d put it. When Arthur reminded her that Antonio was not particularly fond of a certain pirate that was now lazing around the island, waiting for his ship to be repaired after an unfortunate encounter with a Portuguese fleet, she just waved her hand in dismissal, trusting him to come up with a solution.

Arthur did, and Antonio honestly wanted to break his nose for it.

But he had been sternly reminded again that, in case he forgot, he had no say in what he did or where he went. Tomorrow was going to be yet another test on his self-control and capacity to swallow his pride and basic sense of humanity.

“So?” Arthur cocks his head, waiting for an answer.

“Gael.” Antonio declares. He has been slowly warming up to the Irishwoman, almost considering her a friend by now. Or if not a friend, then an ally of sorts. She was secretive, stern and professional. Managing the estate with an iron hand in place of their master. But she didn’t forget her roots either, which probably explained why she let slip sometimes a warmer disposition towards Antonio than the rest of her staff, specially now that she got used to him and his mood shifts. Certainly it wouldn’t be that bad if it was her making sure he couldn't do anything stupid. He was used to women being his voice of reason.

However, Arthur doesn't seem to agree. “She’s my housekeeper." He shakes his head "She needs to keep an eye on the staff to make sure everyone is doing their work. Pick someone else.”

Antonio thinks it over again and then sighs in resignation. “You.”

Arthur’s eyebrows jump up in surprise.

“I’m not going to be paraded around by a slave.” Antonio grumbles. “That would turn me into something even lower than them. If you insist in keeping up with this nonsense and subverting me to it, then be man enough and do your part.” He bares his teeth, not really thinking about the consequences of his words. “Unless you don’t think you are strong enough to hold be back.”

Arthur slaps him.

The hit against his cheek barely bothers Antonio, even though it stings, but the recoil strains the collar and he chokes against the sudden pressure on his throat.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.” Arthur mouths slowly, voice low and husky under his ear. Antonio can smell his skin and a strand of hair tickles at his cheek. He wants to fist his hand into that blond mop again and see that same look of agreement and meekness from a few days ago, that he hadn’t been able to take out of his mind. He wants to feel in control. Over his life, his movements, his breath and, specially, over his keeper.

But in a show of tremendous force of will, that’s getting more difficult to summon every day, he keeps his mouth shut and his hands to himself, even as they shake in his fists. It’s no secret in the estate that Arthur is infatuated with Antonio and consents him tantrums that he’d have anyone else hung for. But there’s just so much a man can try his luck before it runs out. Arthur still holds the leash, literally, and metaphorically.

“Good boy.” He nods, stepping back, and Antonio just looks at his own feet, feeling sick.

That night he goes to bed dreading the first morning light.

 

*******

 

_The water is freezing and pierced by rays of light that slice it violently before disappearing in the dark depths. Antonio fights against his own body, trying to swim up to the surface, but there’s a weight holding him down, and he feels his breath escaping his mouth. However, something catches his attention, a blink of clarity in the corner of his eye. He turns and sees a woman clad in a pristine white dress. Her features are hidden behind long bangs. As a ray of light travels over her pale skin, the flow of dark hair shifts away from her face and Antonio recognizes it instantly, even with the serene veil of unconsciousness turning her features into a marble statue. Horrified, he tries to fight against the current again, now not to get up but to reach her, pawing desperately and trying to call for her under the water as it gets into his lungs and floods his insides. All he wants is to grab her, pull her up, and his vision blurs out just as he seems so close, so-_

Antonio wakes up with an inhuman scream, greedily grasping the insipid air of his room. His body is shaking and he’s desperate to just grab something, anything, and tear it apart. If he can’t save the people he loves in his dreams, he doesn’t want to wake up either. He can’t bear the weight of the impotence, the guilt and rage and solitude…

“What’s going on?!” Arthur’s voice breaks through his spiral as he slams the door open. In the span of a heartbeat Antonio is on him, his body pressing down on Arthur’s.

“It’s all your fault!” He accuses. But there’s no hate in his broken voice, only pain. Because rationally he knows that if it wasn’t for this man’s unsolicited protection, his situation would be much worse. Because after yet another of his nightmares, as the Caribbean humidity closes on him and sticks to his skin, it feels like there’s no escaping Puerto Blanco, there’s no escaping the Barracuda and it’s captain, or the mysterious governess that has no face in his mind and even less heart. But it’s not the rational part of his brain that closes his fingers around Arthur’s neck and presses down. It’s primal and reckless. All he needs is to be in control for once. To be the one with the upper hand. His fingers shake as he pushes down further, savoring the moment and feeling the other man choke and struggle underneath them.

It’s just a few seconds, a few seconds that wash over him as a sweet nectar of relief. It’s an empowering and exciting sensation, exhilarating like opium, but instead of clouding his mind it crashes down like a shot of clarity.

And suddenly Antonio understands that he's made a tremendous mistake. Scrambling away he instinctively covers his body with his arms, expecting Arthur to hit him or just to start calling for the night guards. Shit, shit shit… he’s going to get whipped again, _or worse_.

But several long seconds pass and nothing happens.

Peeking from behind his hands and silently praying that he hasn’t killed Arthur, Antonio blinks nervously, heart racing in his chest. Arthur is sitting now too, apparently unbothered by the dirty  floor as he rubs his neck gently. Weirdly enough he doesn’t seem to be angry, or frightened. He looks... pensive? - Eyes a little bit absent and cheeks dark under the feeble light of the moon. Antonio holds his breath and doesn’t dare to speak the first word.

They stay like this for god knows how long, until Arthur sighs and turns to him again. He looks more natural now. 

“I know you weren’t really trying to kill me.” He interrupts just as Antonio opens his mouth. “Believe me, if I’d seen that intention in your eyes; daddy’s gold be damned I’d have your head on a spike by now.”

Antonio bites the inside of his cheek. They both know that if he had actually tried to kill Arthur then, considering their positions, no help would have come fast enough. Antonio is much stronger now, after months of hard work. Just a little bit more of pressure, a fraction of a second faster and a minuscule shift to his hold and he’d have crushed Arthur’s throat.

But Arthur is right. He was pursuing something else.

“How are you going to make me pay for this?” He asks. Maybe there’s an upside to this whole mess and if he’s incapacitated after a rough beating he can avoid the humiliation of the leash at the party. But Arthur just cocks his head and the corner of his lip twitches upwards. Graceful like a cat he closes the distance between them, his knees barely making any sound as they slide against the wooden floor.

“That depends. Answer me one thing. And I recommend you to be honest.” His thumb brushes over Antonio’s lower lip and his eyes shine like wildfire, even in the darkness of the night. “Did you like it? Did you like having the upper hand, being in control of me, knowing that I was powerless and completely at your mercy?”

“It was an… interesting change of roles.” Antonio whispers. But Arthur chuckles and shakes his head, like he is amused by the tension brewing between them.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He adds, and takes Antonio’s hand, cupping the back of it. “Did it… _excite_ you?” And with that he guides their hands down between his own legs.

Antonio’s breath hitches. Arthur is half hard in his underwear and completely unashamed of it. He bites on his lower lip and closes his eyes even as he tries to drag Antonio’s palm against his groin.

Antonio manages to react from his shock then and immediately recoils, scrambling a foot away just because the back of his bed doesn’t allow him to keep going. He’s simultaneously perturbed and surprised. However, an annoying tangle of heat settles low in the pit of his belly. A primal reaction that he does his best to ignore. Instead, a succession of memories; pictures and comments thrown carelessly with a cryptic smile, flash behind his eyes as the missing pieces of the puzzle slot into place.

_"Holy shit..."_

Looking at it in retrospect - it should have been obvious.

“You don’t need to answer my question now.” Arthur says, visibly amused by Toni’s perplexity. Still, he leans in - eyes sharp like a predator’s, instead of the prey that he apparently likes to play behind closed doors - voice falling low, almost a whisper in the silence of the room and intimate in the shared breath between them. “But tomorrow, when you are standing in front of Blackdog with your leash in my hands, remember the collar of your own making under my clothes.”

“I could tell everyone…” Antonio mumbles, although he already knows that he won’t.

“You are impulsive to the point of stupidity, my dear boy, but not actually stupid. You won’t say a thing because nobody will ever believe you, and it suits you better to have me on your side anyway.” He stands up, dusting his undergarments, and throwing one last look at Antonio over his shoulder. “Now go back to bed. I'm in a very good mood, so you have my permission to sleep in tomorrow. Take a good breakfast and a real bath, wash your hair with soap, shave, jerk off to relax, you know, whatever you need to look your shiniest and prettiest for the party.”

And with one last lascivious grin, he’s gone, shutting the door behind him. But it takes Antonio half an hour to get up from the hard floor and flop down on his bed.

“Oh my G _oood_ I should have killed that sick bastard.” He moans into his pillow. The emotional rollercoaster he just lived through left him completely exhausted, but the worst part is the swarm of contradicting thoughts and feelings in his head that range from terror and disgust to excitement and desire. A messy buzz, that bleeds all together under the heavy hand of Morpheus on his shoulder, and lulls him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw: I'll stop publishing these chapters on tumblr, although I will link every update. But I still recommend you subscribing here on ao3 if you want to get the updates fast.


	9. smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which is really "the easy way out" when the desicion lies between a quick death in glory and the smartest move tainted in cowardice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys. So... things became kinda complicated in my region recently. These past two weeks have been such a mess, you can't even imagine!
> 
> Anyway, luckily, I write in batches so here you go with this chapter. Better three days late than a year anyway (coff coff) 
> 
> Bear in mind, this chapter escalates quite a bit, rating-wise, and many of those that follow will be similar or even stronger. When I first planned this story the smut was supposed to come earlier. Alas! The plot got out of hand :'D 
> 
> I missed writing dom/sub porn tho. It's comforting.

  


No pain inside, not a flicker of emotion outside. Just an inert piece of marble, like a Greek god, like perfection set in stone. ‘ _Don’t let anyone get to you, don’t let anything touch you or_ _sink its claws in your entrails and play with them’_. An open poet’s shirt, white like a virgin’s purity and dark leather hugging his hips; a new blood red sash exalting the shape of his waist, embroidered in gold; like the tears of precious metal and rubies, sapphire and emeralds hanging from his neck, wrists and ears; pulling down with the weight of the blood spilled over them. Heavy boots with noisy heels setting the rhythm of his steps, making heads turn, paraded around like a domesticated animal among wild, dirty beasts. 

The leather that limits his breath is just a formality. Everyone is having fun, letting themselves loose with their guns and swords ready to come out any second. Girls clad in torn dresses with daggers sewn to their garters and stern ladies hiding behind fans, watching from the corner of their eyes how their husbands fuck these prostitutes. The air feels heavy with tobacco smoke and guttural laughs as the light of the fireplace and dozens of candles dances from the ceiling to the floors, leaving dark spaces to lurk in. Spilled wine and burst grapes, remains of a short lived farce of a civilized dinner. 

A couple of slaves are banging their drums in the corners and a small blonde girl with bruises over her exposed thighs is clanking awkwardly on a harp. “Play for us, darling” The Governess says, blue eyes glistering behind the smoke curtain of her cigar, and a servant extends Antonio an old vihuela. Arthur gives the leash a slight tug as he flops down on the pillows, at the feet of the sofa she is lounging on. He picks up a bottle of rum and gives it a long swig, the excess spurting from the corners of his mouth and down his neck, covered in a high collar with a jabot, hiding behind its overdone elegance Antonio’s work from last night. 

He gives a sly nod and Antonio lowers himself next to him. 

He tries to ignore everything. The smells and sounds of the party, the humiliation, the looks of all nature on his frame. The weight of Arthur’s hand, too high on his thigh but loose and relaxed, is almost an anchor as he submerges himself in the song. A melody of times past that transports him back to his youth. To his years in the court and the safety of his father’s guards standing over him and his teacher. His brother smiling from the other end of the table as he plays a tune he just learned for the guests from the other end of the Christian domains of the King. Sofia, barely ten years old yet, humming to the lyrics of the melancholic music. 

Antonio tries his best to keep those feelings close to heart and not miss a single note when the Governess extends her leg, the tip of her boot hooking under his chin and raising his head to look her in the eyes. She would be beautiful if not for the darkness clinging like slimy, putrid honey to her smirk. 

“It’s a pity we have to give you back.” She whispers and Antonio reads it on her lips more than hears it in the cacophony of the party around them. Arthur does hear her tho, and laughs, loud and a little bit drunk. 

“Hopefully it’s not going to be soon. I’m just starting to enjoy having him around.” He winks at Antonio and cocks his head, resting it against his Lady’s thigh. He tugs on the chain and Antonio chokes, falling forward, hand on the floor, face too close to the cradle of Arthur’s thighs. It’s so humiliating and pathetic he feels the need to throw up, gritting his teeth as Arthur as the Governess explode in guffaws and even the slaves surrounding her chuckle.  

But like a good boy, Antonio fakes a polite smile, swallowing hard and returning to his music, starting another tune. He’s tired and restless, getting gloomier by the second but keeping it locked inside. He’s going to be the perfect courtesan and make Arthur pay for it somehow, later. His eyes flicker to Arthur’s collar again, and the other man catches his gaze, eyes narrowing in a discreet but complicit smirk. Antonio’s seen the bloom of the bruises before, when he brought him his clothes. He swears on his ancestors that he’s going to make it much worse in retribution for tonight. 

These ambitions keep him under control and just one thing keeps bothering him: he hasn’t seen Blackdog yet. 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see the debauchery of old, scarred faces, barely human, dark eyes shining through the haze of alcohol and lust for the harlots hired to “liven up” the ambience. They fake-laugh and moan equally fake when the men manhandle them. Antonio is marginally glad he isn’t in their position. He just keeps playing; for Arthur, and for the governess. They are laughing now at each other, discussing some easy treaty and gossip coming from Port Royale. 

“I knew she’d find a good use for you.”

For a second, that voice ices the blood in his veins. Antonio’s fingers slip and he breaks the song, hanging the last note in the air. Behind him. That man is standing behind him. Towering over his frame as his shadow engulfs the light around them.

Slowly, he turns around, raising his eyes to meet the man responsible for every single drop of misery in the last months of his life. Blackdog is wearing the same clothes as the last time, sans the coat and the hat. A torn piece of red cloth covering his left eye, looking strangely striking against his white hair and unkempt beard, a myriad of scars crossing the canvas of his yellowish face. But it’s the deathly pale blue, glistering like a wolf’s iris inside of a sunken eye socket, what makes Antonio freeze. For a second he doesn’t know how to react. He has fantasized so many times with what he’d do if he ever had that beast at hand’s distance. But right now his mind is blank, he doesn’t know what move to make, what word to say...

And then he does. 

He knows that Blackdog is probably drunk, that nobody is paying attention to them, and where Arthur keeps his spare pistol. 

He knows but he isn’t thinking clearly when he gently leaves the vihuela on the floor and, quick as a lightning, tears the weapon away from its strap around Arthur’s ankle. He points it at Blackdog in midst of the rising commotion. He can marginally hear some women cheering, Arthur yelling at him and the Governess cursing, but the buzz in his head keeps them all far away. 

“You pull that chain and I shoot.” He warns as the pressure around his neck draws tighter. It loosens but he keeps aiming. His hands are bold, they are not shaking, they are ready to fire. But something is keeping him back. He’s looking at the eye of the man he’s about to kill and sees no fear. Blackdog looks like he’s just amused, like the devil himself couldn’t touch him.

Antonio’s hands start to tremble, barely perceivable. He wants to end this, wants to rid the world of that monster, even if it costs him his own life. 

“Antonio.” Arthur’s voice is barely a whisper in his ear. His breath hot and shaky on the side of his face. “Antonio listen to me. This is useless. If you kill him you’ll break the status quo. Five others will take his empty place and they will compete to rise above each other. You’ll only do a disservice to your motherland.” 

Antonio knows it, of course he does. But it’s just too hard to believe that any other could ever be as horrifying as Blackdog. 

“Antonio, put the gun down. You won’t accomplish anything this way, if you shoot, you are a dead man.” Arthur’s hand rises slowly, his fingers gliding over the folds of Antonio’s shirt, closing around his wrists. Antonio is frozen, eyes completely focused on Blackdog, unblinking. “Think about your brother. Think about your wife. Remember what you told me? That you’d do anything to see her again. C'mon. Shh… give this to me.” Arthur’s fingers curl over Antonio’s, around the cannon of the gun, pulling at it carefully. “Please, let go. Do it for her.” Sofia’s face flashes behind his eyes and Antonio lowers his eyelids to chase her mirage. He thinks about Henrique, about the promise he gave with God as a witness. He thinks about them and about his mother, his land, that he swore to die on. He thinks about them all as he surrenders his hold and allows Arthur to take the gun from him. 

The instant it leaves his hands everything comes crashing down. The noise, Blackdog’s laugh, the yelling, clapping, cheering… everything is just so unbearably loud for a second and then Arthur pulls on the leash with force. 

“I can’t believe how fucking  _ stupid _ you are!” He yells, practically shaking with anger. Grabbing a walking stick belonging to some guy lounging nearby, he swings and strikes Antonio’s back, hard. The pain is excruciating but Antonio doesn’t make a sound, just grasping for breath. Arthur hits him again and again, and he instinctively covers his face, so the next hit lands on his forearms. It feels like his bones are shattering and Antonio is almost grateful when Arthur throws the oak away. 

Turning to the Governess, he makes a small bow. “If you don’t mind, my Lady, I’d like to be excused for tonight. I think I have some disciplining to do.” 

The governess waves her hand, sighing. “Yeah, take him away.” She loses interest in them, addressing Blackdog. “My apologies, old friend.” 

The pirate grins. “The kid’s got balls, but not what it takes to pull the trigger. This was the most fun of the night.”

They keep talking, but Antonio doesn’t hear it. Arthur grabs his shoulder, pulling him up forcefully. Antonio’s knees are flailing a bit, but he keeps up, trailing after Arthur, who walks with intent, headed for the stairs. Gael is waiting by the base and he stops to whisper in her ear. 

“Take care of everything here and don’t let anyone up.”

She nods and Antonio knows not a single soul will bear witness to whatever is about to happen upstairs. 

 

Arthur guides them to his room. The heavy velvet curtains hide the moon but the chandeliers are burning bright enough for Antonio to see Arthur’s face strikingly clear when he turns around. There’s an enigmatic mixture of emotions in his expression. Anger, regret, disappointment, pity and even an ounce of amusement. And something else, impossible to grasp, to identify. 

“Are you going to continue beating me?” Antonio asks, and the ice in his voice makes it clear that now that they are one on one, he’s planning to put up a fight. 

“I did that because it was necessary, not because I wanted to. I had to show authority after you played me. And I must confess that even though that little trick impressed me, the rest of your show was downright pathetic, especially at the end.”

Antonio sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall, and immediately pulls away, hissing in pain.

“Well, you didn’t hold back one bit, you son of a…”

“Be careful, my dear. We both know I’ve been going soft on you lately. We are still in time to go downstairs, where I can offer any of the present to teach you manners, like they are all thinking I’m doing with you now. Or do you miss my whip so much?”

Antonio grits his teeth, throwing Arthur a murderous glare. But the other man just chuckles and shakes his dead. Stepping closer, he takes a key out of the back pocket of his pants, unlocking the choker collar and sliding it off Antonio’s neck. The leather hits the floor and Arthur slides his arms over Antonio’s shoulders, playing with a strand of his hair. Antonio is so used by now to these physical insinuations that if it wasn’t for the pain on his back, he’d be barely bothered. Arthur, on the other hand, seems to be pondering on something. 

“I’m disappointed. I really thought you would be what I need.” He mumbles, tilting his head, but the hard lines on his face clash with the casualness of his gestures. “You deceived me, made me believe you were just… more. And yet you listened to my voice and took the easy way out, like a coward.” 

Antonio growls low in his throat. They both know what Arthur is talking about and even if he isn’t sure yet what he thinks of that unspoken proposition, he’s well aware that the damn prick has just insulted his worth as a man. 

Even in spite of the pain in his arms and back Antonio seizes Arthur hard by the waist, keeping him in place. His voice comes out full of dull spite “Blackdog is responsible for everything that happened to me. His hands are soaked in the blood of my countrymen. There’s nothing I’d love more than to finish him with my own hands, knowing that I will never see him in my nightmares again. Even if it’s just for ten seconds, even if I have to pay with my life for it.” He breathes in deep, interrupting Arthur when he’s about to speak. “But I gave my word to someone who loves me that I will survive this bloody island, I owe it to my father to carry on our family name, and I’m bound by my vows to care for my wife. I didn’t resist the trigger out of fear but because it’s my duty.” He spats the last words out almost shaking with a contradicting mix of relief and defiance. His eyes cut cold like winter frost when they lock on Arthur’s over his last words “do you still think I took the easy way out?” 

Arthur gasps, taken by surprise. He doesn’t tear his gaze apart but Antonio can see the green fog over with desire and compliancy, can feel Arthur’s his chest rising and falling with deep, shaken breaths. 

But it’s been a long day full of frustration, humiliation and blows to his ego. Antonio is disappointed and still feels like he’s got something to prove, so he doesn’t think it twice before leaning in and kissing Arthur, hard. In truth it’s more like a crash of lips and teeth than a kiss. For a second it hurts, but then Arthur opens his mouth pliantly and lets his tongue in. And it’s been so long since the last time Antonio had intimate contact with someone that it takes him barely an instant to forget all inhibitions. He swings their bodies around, shoving at Arthur until his back hits the wall and pushing with his weight against him. Arthur’s hands clutch at his shirt, trying to tear it out, but Antonio is rather enjoying wearing one for a change. Besides, he’s the one in charge now. 

So he fists his fingers in Arthur’s sandy hair and jerks his head back with fury. Arthur barely resists being forced down on his knees, and despite the painful hiss, there’s an inking of a blissed smile on his face. This is what he likes, Antonio realises. Being forced down and dragged around. Everything he does to others, he secretly desires to be done to him. How can a man resist an offering like that? 

Antonio guides Arthur’s face towards his crotch and can’t help but sneer when the other man needily mouths at his member, that’s already making a tent in his pants. 

“Cm’on, what are you waiting for?” Antonio orders, voice low and unsparing. He feels the fine tremble of Arthur’s hands before they pull at the edge of the fabric tucked under his sash. Just enough to free Antonio’s erection and untuck the hem of his shirt. It’s a peculiar picture. His dick standing out in the opening between the flounces of white, and his keeper, his self-proclaimed owner, on his knees and practically salivating for it. He’s asking for permission with his eyes, sweet and meek at this point. But even behind the fog of lust Antonio is still aware whom he’s with. He’s determined to take everything he can from this encounter. Every ounce of authority and control he can get, as a retribution for these past months, and to savor it in the future. 

“Hands behind your back” he orders. When Arthur fails to process it immediately he clenches his fist, pulling at his hair mercilessly “Now!”

Arthur moans down in his throat and closes his eyes, doing as he’s told. 

“Open.” And Arthur drops his jaw pliantly. Using his other hand Antonio takes the base of his cock and guides it into the wet heat. It’s a delicious sensation and Antonio just realises how much he’d missed it. Arthur sucks on the tip dutifully, using his skilled tongue to draw circles around the underside. Antonio takes a few minutes to enjoy it, rocking softly, but then decides he wants more and just pushes all the way in. 

Arthur gags on it, trying to scramble away, but Antonio is having none of it. Using his grip on Arthur’s hair he keeps his head still, the other hand sprawled over the wall to provide better leverage as he fucks into Arthur’s mouth. He greedily enjoys every second of it: the tight heat; the way Arthur jerks every time he makes him deepthroat his cock; the helpless little sounds and mewling moans; the way he swallows around the tip; the fine tremble of his entire body, and of course the pressure building up, higher and higher, in tandem with that tide of pure pleasure flooding every nerve of his body. 

Antonio throws his head back, thrusting faster and deeper, with short, violent jerks of his hips, as he feels his climax drawing closer. But it’s not until he looks down, at Arthur’s strained face, tears shining at the corners of his shut eyes, that he goes still and quivering, his dick pulsating in the tightness of his partner’s throat. 

Arthur coughs, trying to free himself and Antonio lets go, shooting the last strikes of his come all over Arthur’s face and hair. 

They stay like this for what feels like an eternity: Arthur boneless on the floor, back sunken against the wall, coughing feebly every few seconds and Antonio heaving over him. 

“Please…” Arthur’s voice comes out barely audible and hoarse, but his eyes are pleading and Antonio looks down at the wet tent in his pants, thighs sprawled open. Antonio considers leaving him like this, but he’s never been one to use and throw away, so he raises his foot and slowly drags the tip of his boot against Arthur’s covered erection. It only takes a couple slides before Arthur’s breath hitches and his shoulders fall, releasing all the tension in his body with a broken moan. 

His eyes are glassy and unfocused but his lips curve in a gentle smile. 

It’s like he’s not even aware that Antonio is still there. 

Antonio feels like he should say something but doesn’t know what, and doesn’t really want to talk about this right now anyway. So he just pulls up his pants, ties them loosely around his hips and steps around Arthur, still sprawled on the floor with an expression of a blissed out peace on his face. With one last look meant to burn that picture into his brain, Antonio opens the door and leaves. 

 

He collapses into his own bed completely boneless. All the tension that he’s been hoarding through the day, or even through the past few months, completely evaporated, leaving just a weightless serenity behind. He falls deep into a dreamless slumber and doesn’t wake up until the first rays of day hit his face. 

 


	10. ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, considering some of you have been asking for smut since chapter one, I actually expected a bit more of a reaction to it

 

Antonio isn’t sure what pisses him off more; the whispers and furtive looks behind his back from literally everyone in the household, or the fact that Arthur started the day by pretending nothing even happened and then disappeared.

Apparently, the servants don’t seem to be able to agree whether his little slip during the party was stupid, brave or on the contrary: a cowardice, due to the fact that he desisted from going through with it at the end.

“If I were you, I’d have fired.” Eri says while holding straight the fence spike that Antonio is trying to nail back to the garden fence. He’s a young, mixed boy of barely ten that Arthur got at the same slave auction where he bought Palle and Grin, the same boy that Antonio had hurled a book at some months ago. He’s a little, defiant demon, but hadn’t dared to cross Antonio ever since.

“Have you ever fired a gun at all?” Antonio asks, picking up another nail. “Also, you are not me.”

“I know if I hated someone and I had the chance to kill them I would.”

“Easier said than done. Would you kill Arthur?”

The boy ponders on it for a while. “I don’t get out much but I know there are worse masters out there than him. Gael says I should thank God that I had been priced so cheap, because if Arthur hadn’t thought I’d be useful when I grew up I’d have been given to a brothel owner.”

“Hold this straight.” Antonio chastises him when the spike slips a bit to the left “Are you baptized?”

Eri nods. “Before it was raided by buccaneers I lived in a village with a church. The Father there said that God would protect us if we worked hard and were faithful. But he lied. Your kind always lies.”

Antonio frowns but otherwise ignores the bite in his voice. It’s useless to argue politics with a kid. “What about your family?”

Eri just looks down and Antonio sighs. The increasing rate of buccaneering and privateering has been a huge problem in the caribbean for decades now. Port Royale, Tortuga and Puerto Blanco being the main pillars sustaining the Brethen of the Coast. A literal unholy trinity that feed retroactively off each other’s pillages and captures both on sea and land.

They continue working in silence, Eri still grumpy and Antonio lost in thought about imperial politics and economy. He becomes so absorbed that he almost jumps out of his skin when he hears his name being called in a commanding voice.

Turning around he sees Gael a few feet away, beckoning him with her hand.

“Leave this now, Arthur wants to see you.”

“Maybe he’ll beat you up again.” Eri whispers and points at the ugly bruises on Antonio’s shoulders and forearms that ache like hell, but that he’s been doing his best not to think about.

“I’ll recommend you next if he’s still in the mood when he’s done with me, then.”

He leaves the slightly panicked kid clinging to the spike for dear life and falls into step with Gael.

“Where?” It was not yet time for their lessons.

“The docks.” Antonio shots her a worried look but she just shrugs “He was in a pretty good mood heading down, doubtfully will try to drown you.”

Still, Antonio doesn’t like it at all. He knows with the Kirkland estate comes a little stripe of beach and a small wooden dock used by their fishing crew. But he’s never been there, in fact he hasn’t been close to the sea since he was brought to the island.

Walking down the path he keeps repeating to himself that the clear turquoise waters hold no dangers for him.

Arthur is sitting at the end of the dock, naked feet barely touching the water. He seems relaxed and smiles when Antonio reluctantly approaches him. He pats the place next to him and Antonio obediently lowers himself, but he sits cross-legged. Arthur doesn’t seem to mind.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I always want to see you, gorgeous.” He answers with a leer. “But we need to talk.”

“And it couldn’t have been in the library?”

Arthur laughs. Gael was right; he’s in a good mood and it’s a nice look on him.

“No, see? You have a problem, my dear. You tend to forget your place easily. And for this conversation, I need to keep you down before you get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea on what?” Although in fact, Antonio already suspects what Arthur wants to talk about.

The other man smirks at him and then looks back at the sea, towards the horizon.

“I liked you since the beginning. Not only because you have nice features but because you stand… commanding. I like that in a man the same way I like women to be feisty and forward. But I wasn’t sure you’d be good at giving me what I like, even if I suspected you were of the kind. However, I think we both enjoyed yesterday night. And as for me, I’d much like a repeat.”

Antonio says nothing. It had certainly been… therapeutic for him. But establishing a sexual relationship with Arthur would be complicated and messy to say the least.

Arthur, great lover of his own voice, keeps talking though “I like to release control and to be… used. I get hard from being roughed up and forced.  And it seems like you need exactly the contrary to make up for your bruised ego. That’s what makes us perfect partners in bed, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.” Antonio’s cheeks are burning, borth from the unexpected rise of arousal in the pit of his belly and a certain degree of indignation.

“Oh I do! See, in any other case it wouldn't matter. For what’s worth - you are mine. Any other master would have torn that pretty ass apart and bred you like a bitch since day one. Fortunately for you, that’s what I like to be done to myself, so there’s no way for me to tailor you to my sexual preferences without your cooperation, save ordering you to fuck me, but that takes all the fun out of it.”

Antonio gulps but then realises something and snorts in derision. “Any other master wouldn't be as sick as to consider that in the first place.”

Arthur laughs again, as if Antonio had said something particularly ridiculous. “Puerto Blanco has more harlots than women, my dear. What does that tell you?”

Antonio makes a face between surprise and disgust.

“Believe me, after months on the sea your average pirate doesn’t even care about what’s dangling anymore as long as there’s a hole and the available body smells better than a mix of rotten fish, gunpowder and urine.”

Well, now Antonio is definitely disgusted. “Can we go back to talking about how you like to be thrown around like a rag doll? It’s slightly less perturbing.”  

“After all these months and you still have such delicate reservations. Cute.” Antonio has the feeling that Arthur is mocking him. “Do you know why I ordered you to come down here?” He nods at the view in front of them: it’s paradisiac in its beauty; the white sand and turquoise waters, fresh and calm, expansive as far as the eye can see, disappearing where the dark blue stripe meets the cloudless sky. It looks so peaceful and serene that it’s difficult to imagine all the monsters lurking below and above the waves. But Antonio doesn’t need to imagine; he _knows_.

“Because I don’t like the ocean.”

Arthur nods “Because I need you to stay in line and keep in mind your situation. I made you come here because you are uncomfortable near the water. Something that cannot be said about anyone else in this island. You are a stranger, you don’t belong, and I’m the only reason you are even able to look at the sky now.” He grasps Antonio’s arm, fingers deliberately digging into the bruises and Antonio swallows the pained cry that almost leaves his mouth. He hisses instead and tries to get his arm back but Arthur is holding tight and when he leans forward his eyes are dark and serious.

“The reality is - I’m in charge of you. That’s something you shouldn’t forget. You asked why we couldn’t speak in the library. Well, when we are there you are the teacher. You give me tasks and you feel like you are in control. Your room is a territory you are familiar with. And my own, after yesterday, bears for you the reminder of the dominance I allowed you over me. But that’s it. Outside of these little bubbles I’m your owner, master and jailer. You aren’t in any way _entitled_ to any sliver of power that I let you have. So leave your arrogance aside for now. Until now I let you act up from time to time because I really didn’t want to break you and spoil my own fun. But now that’s over. The respect and fear you’ve got of the ocean, that’s what you have to show me when we are in public. Your snark, your sassy comments and sarcasm, your tricks and defiance… I don’t want to see _any_ of it. And I certainly don’t want a repeat of that little trick you pulled on me yesterday at the party.” His grips tightens again, painful and unrelentless “Keep your hands away from my weapons. Or the next time you ridicule me, I will make sure you beg me to kill you and end your suffering. Do you understand?”

Arthur’s voice is barely a whisper at the end of his speech, rolling off his tongue like distant ocean roar, drowned in the sound of waves crashing on the shore. He smells of salt, rum and thunderstorms. Antonio longs for the security of the mountains and the comforting scent of printing ink but he’s more aware than ever that if he wants to get out of this island, he needs to follow its rules, Arthur’s rules. So he nods, closing his eyes.

He hadn’t stopped to think about how it must have looked yesterday when he bypassed the collar, Arthur’s security measure, and stole his weapon to threaten one of his guests. Luckily, most of the party was already drunk as hell and Arthur’s quick reaction with the walking stick probably saved his reputation.

“I can’t promise to be able to change the way I am.” He mumbles. Because he can try to control his actions but his impulsivity and, admittedly, arrogant nature don’t always answer to reason.

Arthur’s eyes soften, as does his grasp on Antonio’s arm. He leans forward and Antonio is almost surprised by the kiss he receives on the cheek. Arthur’s control over the way he presents himself is almost superhuman. One moment he’s dark and commanding like a captain, the next he’s affectionate and compliant. Antonio never knows what to expect from him, what word will make him laugh or lash out in anger. Like a game of chances, it makes his head spin and he suspects that Arthur actually uses that well-honey ability to keep people always on their toes around him.

“I’m not asking you to change the way you are. I like the way you are. Just control it in public and save it for when we are alone. Just the two of us… you can exert your revenge however you want, let it all out.” He bites on his lip, dropping his eyelids to half mast “When we are alone I want you to take all that frustration and pour it on me. Don’t hurt my face and don’t leave visible evidence, but otherwise… just never forget that sex is an exception, not the norm to our dynamics.”

“Can you at least try to make some sense?” Antonio sighs. But he doesn’t protest because he guesses that offer is better than anything he could get in his situation.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Arthur shrugs “Also, making sense would make me predictable, and could even cost me my life.”

“Like the ocean then, huh?”

“Just like the ocean.” Arthur agrees with a smirk.

He gets up, stretching his back “I have to pass on our classes today, by the way. Got a meeting with the Governess now.”

“When are you coming back?” Antonio asks, following him back in the direction of the estate. A part of him feels more relieved with every step he takes away from the docks.

“I don’t know, late, probably. But don’t rush to sleep tonight, I may just pay you a visit upon my return.”

The grin he throws over his shoulder leaves no doubt over what kind of visit is it gonna be.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way - we officially passed 1/2 of this story. I've also dropped the first hints of foreshadowing for the ending in this chapter ;)


	11. prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, would you look at that! Arthur has a past!

He finds it by sheer luck.

It’s been over a month since their peculiar relationship - if it could be called like that - began. Arthur comes to see him late one night, way before the sun rises over the sea and the roosters sing a starting day. He smells of alcohol, tobacco and horses, and wakes up Antonio with drunken giggles and sloppy kisses over his back.

Antonio tries to shoo him away and keep sleeping, but if there’s one thing he learned by now is that Arthur can be very insistent when he’s in the mood. So Antonio pushes him away, rolling him onto the floor, and then drags him back up, this time with his face buried into the pillow and ass up. Arthur seems to have been playing with himself on his way home, which makes the process easier.

Antonio mounts him sloppily. Yawning in the middle of it and only getting more enthusiastically into the action when his own pleasure draws near. Once he spills inside, however, he gets up and checks that Arthur is falling asleep. He covers himself with a blanket and goes in the search of water and a cloth to clean himself up. The house is quiet and even the guard posted outside has his eyes closed. Antonio curses Arthur, because he was having a pretty calm night for a change, but now he’s wide awake and even if he wanted to go back to bed, Arthur sleeps like a dead starfish after sex.

However, to be fair, ever since their arrangement began Antonio has been feeling better, so he isn’t too bothered. Figuring it will be more comfortable to lay in Arthur’s bed instead of trying to fit both of them on his own, he sneaks into his lord’s room. Throwing himself on top of way more comfortable mattress.

Sleep doesn’t come tho. So he ends up examining the corners of the suite with his eyes, already used to the darkness and aided by the moonlight. It’s then that he notices a bible on one of the shelves. _Might as well read something._ If he selects a passage boring enough he might even manage to fall asleep.

However, when he takes the sacred book in his hands, he notices something unusual; it’s incredibly battered and in a lamentable state. There are pages torn or missing and several papers sticking from between. There’re scribbles on the edges too, in a handwriting that is not Arthur’s, because Antonio knows Arthur’s handwriting very well and that one’s neater, more elongated and delicate, but the S and the As are written in that exact same way, with a little tail at the end.

He tries to read it, but the chalk is smuggled in too many spots to make out anything rational. Except that some seem to be prayer verses or questions to God. He keeps turning the pages until a piece of paper falls out. He raises it to the moonlights and squints to take in the drawing taking up most of it. It’s a woman; clad only in a skirt and with her breasts covered by the messy locks of her hair, sitting on a bed and looking aside, towards a window. She looks beautiful and melancholic. Antonio has the feeling he shouldn’t have seen that, so he puts it back into the book and turns the rest of the pages quickly, unsure of what he’s looking for.

He doesn’t know when or how he falls asleep, but when he wakes up he’s got a pair of arms tightly wrung around his middle. The day outside is looking gloomy and gray, and the chill on his skin is a good excuse to close his eyes for another couple of minutes, letting the warmth of Arthur’s body chase it away.

But it’s him who’s in the mood now so, disentangling himself from Arthur’s octopus grip, he rolls on top of him, using one elbow as leverage, and pulls Arthur’s breeches down. He rocks his hips and Arthur smiles through the fog of his sleep, letting his thighs fall open. He bites on his lip when Antonio buries himself inside of him, but doesn’t open his eyes, taking the throughout and long strokes with passive submission and lazy moans, that spill from his mouth like honeyed balm. His body begins to tremble when Antonio starts pushing faster and forces himself all the way in, balls smacking the underside of Arthur's ass with an obscenely wet sound. He rests part of his body on Arthur, weighing down on his chest and making his breathing harder. Arthur struggles to keep up, shaking and digging into Antonio’s hips with his nails until he comes.

Antonio raises on one elbow, fucking into him another dozen of strokes until he reaches his orgasm as well.

“mmm… good morning.” Arthur mumbles, shifting to his side once Antonio rolls off him.

“You’re welcome.” Antonio answers. Sitting up and looking for the basin of clear water and a cloth he knows must be somewhere in the room.

“Behind the nightstand. Clean me up too.” Arthur orders after a yawn.

“You are getting lazy.” Antonio chuckles, but does it anyway. Using the hem of the sheet to dry the wet patches he left between Arthur’s legs after washing out the sticky mess. The coloring of Arthur’s body never fails to amuse him. Even though he’s got a seasoned tan on his arms, neck and face, the parts of his body that are usually covered by tupid fabric are pastry white. It’s ridiculous and makes him look like he’s wearing some sort of white leggings with a hole cut out for a limp dick and balls.

Arthur would probably kill him if Antonio ever said anything of that out loud though.

Besides, he’s not that much better under the belt. Except that Arthur is way paler than him. Like, really pale, baby pink even.

His deep philosophical ponderings get interrupted when Arthur suddenly becomes tense, scrambling up to sit on the bed too and cover his lower half with the sheet.

“What?-”Antonio begins, but then shuts up at the seriousness on Arthur’s face. He reaches for the nightstand, taking in his hands with care the bible that Antonio found yesterday.

“What is this doing here?” He opens the book, browsing through the pages.

Antonio raises his hands in a sign of innocence, arching one eyebrow. “Hey, if you didn’t want anybody to take it you should have left a note. I just wanted to read a passage or something.”

“Don’t ever touch this bible again.” Arthur warns him, opening it by the page where the portrait is tucked in. Antonio notices the heaviness in his gaze as he carefully rearranges it to align better with the pages. Suddenly, realization strikes.

“Is this… your mom?”

At the stiken surprise in Arthur’s eyes he just shrugs. “You look alike.” He decides to keep pushing, despite knowing better. “She was beautiful.”

Arthur’s upper lip twitches, and his shoulders lose a fraction of his tension. “Thanks, darling.”

Antonio realises what he just said and groans as his cheeks warm up a bit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure.” Arthur teases, looking back down at the page. “But yes. Courtesy of a client with artistic tendencies. She really was beautiful. And a Noble till the very end.”

“I thought she was…” Antonio lets it hang in the air but waves his hand around. Arthur nods.

“Yes. But she wasn’t born it, per se. And neither was I.”

Antonio frowns. Arthur mentioned before that his mother had been a prostitute. He had assumed that Arthur was the bastard son that she gave to the previous owner of the Kirkland estate. Rich men could allow to hire private harlots for them alone for as long as they wanted.

Arthur shakes his head, visibly amused by Antonio’s confusion. “I was born in Continental England, to a merchant family. My mother had been educated in writing, literature and anything she’d need to give good conversation and to manage a rich household. But at some point my father assumed that we’d fare way better in the new world. I was like… six? He paid for his audacity with his life and we - with everything else. At the end of her life, this old Bible was all that she had to her name.” He closes the book, looking up at Antonio with a sardonic smile. “Touch it again and I’ll personally cut off both of your ears. Understood?”

“Yup.” Antonio swallows, raising his palms again to placate him. By the boldness in his eyes he knows that Arthur is dead serious. “Never again. I swear.”

“Good. I would have assumed a man as religious as yourself would know better than to touch the Bible of another.” Arthur sets the book back on the nightstand and leans against the headboard.

“I’m not nearly as religious as I should be. It’s hard to keep the faith in a place like this, and I’m really overdue for a confession.” Antonio can hear the commotion downstairs, the entire house waking up, the fishing crew making their way back. He should probably go down and start working, but Arthur chuckles and tugs at a strand of his hair.

“In the shithole I grew up in, many of the women had lost their faith completely, but others clung to it expecting a miracle to happen. I was the chore boy. Brought them water and mended the sheets, informed the clients of the prices of the different girls and services when the owner wasn’t around… I saw them after their clients left. I guess I never managed to understand the latter. They prayed and prayed but nothing ever happened. My mother was different. She didn’t pray for a God to save us. She prayed to thank him for arranging it so she could still see me every day. As if I didn’t come as a free gift to whoever brought her. She still thought she had something to thank God for.” He looks up at Antonio, huffing at his puzzled look. “What do you have to be thankful for?”

Antonio muses over it. “I guess I’m one of these that pray for a miracle, or for my family.”

“And here I thought you’d say that you are thankful for me and my protection.” He’s joking, of course. But Antonio has to admit he isn’t completely wrong either. He could have had way worse of a luck with another keeper. “Do you really need confession?”

Antonio sighs, looking down at his hands. “I have a lot to ask forgiveness for lately.” He’s mostly referring to his latest carnal transgressions with Arthur, of course.

Arthur nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?” Antonio raises his eyebrows incredulously.

“Can’t promise anything decent tho.” Arthur chuckles. “Now shoo. Don’t you have work to do?”

Oh damn! Nevermind that he’s wasting time with their boss, if he’s late Gael will yell at him. Before he’s out the door, however, he turns back to Arthur.

“One last question: how did a chore boy from a brothel manage to get a house like this?”

Arthur grins like a sly cat. “Remember what I told you on your first day here? When you were trying to flaunt your family’s name under my nose?”

It seems so long ago, almost in another life. But he tries to make memory. “You told me that only murderers and whores survive in Puerto Blanco.”

“And what else?”

Antonio remembers it clearly now. “...that you are both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! 
> 
> Btw, I set up a ko-fi profile.  
> I don't think it will do anything to post it here, but just in case:  
> [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/E1E05E6L)


	12. music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys. 
> 
> Did you know that before the XVIIth century all carrots were either yellow or purple? I discovered it by trying to check when did the carrot arrive into the Americas. (It was in the 1565's btw) 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is all really weird porn until the *** separator. You can skip till there if you prefer. 
> 
> Also, the end notes are important.

Antonio’s steps are silent as he ascends the stairs. A candle in one hand and a woven basket hanging from his elbow. He closes the door of Arthur’s bedroom behind himself, thoroughly turning the locks.

Arthur is sprawled on his belly across the bed; each of his wrists is secured with a robe to the nearest bedpost, and so are his ankles. A pillow, conveniently placed under his hips, elevates his bottom, presenting it just in the right angle to show off everything. He’s open and vulnerable, exposed to the night air as goosebumps appear on his skin from the current the movement of the door generates. He mumbles something behind the fabric of his gag and tries to turn his head over his shoulder to look at Antonio.

“Stay quiet!” Antonio chastises him, leaving the candle on the nightstand and the basket at the feet of the bed.

“Have you been behaving, pet?” He shushes, sliding the tips of his fingers up Arthur’s spine and neck, gently cradling through the fair hairs at his nape. “I guess I did well in tying you up, so you wouldn’t run away. You can be quite a hassle if I leave you unsupervised, do you?” With that he closes his fist in Arthur’s hair, jerking his head back with force. Arthur yelps and the muzzle drowns his voice, but not the throaty groan when Antonio drags his nails down his back. They leave long scratches on his skin, not comparable to the scars across Antonio’s back but enough to set a warm tang of fleeting delight down in his belly.

“There, there. You are shaking like a rabbit. Are you cold. Or is it hunger? I’ve got something for that.” Reaching for the basket he takes out a jar of freshly made butter. The cook will not be amused to find it gone in the morning, but it’s not like he can’t make more. After thoroughly dipping his fingers in it, Antonio guides his hand between Arthur’s legs, teasingly circling over his entrance and down to his balls. Arthur whines softly, bucking his hips, and Antonio has to whack him painfully on the ass with the hand that’s not covered in grease.

“I told you to be still. Is that so hard to understand?” He chuckles at Arthur’s apologetic mumble “Do you want me to feed you or not?”

Without waiting for an answer he inserts one finger, shaking his head in reproach at how easily it goes in. He draws it back and adds another, working them in a slow tandem, scissoring and hooking them to test the give before pushing in a third one.

Arthur makes a strangled noise and bucks his hips again, trying desperately to get more. Antonio doesn’t allow him, laughing at the pathetic spectacle.

“Are you still hungry, rabbit boy? I see you are famished. No wonder; butter is not what rabbits usually eat, is it?”

Antonio withdraws his fingers, despite the muffled complaints coming from Arthur, and returns to the basket. “Let’s see if this manages to sate your hungry hole.” He runs his tongue along the shaft of a pretty huge carrot that he carefully selected from the kitchen's stash and grins at Arthur, who’s trying to look over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow as Arthur pulls on his restrains, his face blooming in red, looking perplexed and unamused. But Antonio knows better by now.

He covers the carrot in butter, making sure he has a dry part left to hold it, and brings the tip to Arthur’s hole, teasing over and under it like he did with his fingers before.

Arthur’s buttocks quiver and his blush travels down to his sides and hips. He rolls them again, as well as he can within his restrains. Antonio keeps playing with him, dragging the tip of the carrot over his perineum and balls, slowly tapping on them with it.

“Look at you. You really do crave this. You crave for me to restrain you and treat you like some sort of kinky little beast. You are famished for something to fill you and fuck you, whether it’s a dick or anything else that’s hard and big enough. There, there my little pet, just have a taste, don’t get greedy.”

He pushes in. Just the tip at first, past the tight ring of muscles but not enough to bring satisfaction. Rotating the carrot like a screw. Arthur whines and his asscheeks go stiff, so Antonio has to grab them and clench until he’s sure there will be a set of perfectly defined, dark bruises in the shape of his hand tomorrow. Arthur starts trembling again but his body lies lax on the sheets now, letting Antonio do his job.

“See? You’ve only got yourself to blame.” Antonio chuckles, nudging more of the carrot inside and moving it in a circular tandem. “You’re just asking for humiliation all the time, no matter how much bravado you use to compensate, your eyes just plead for me to step on you.” He shoves as much of the carrot inside as he can, dragging it out and then back in.

He fucks Arthur; a slow and smooth to and fro. The man under his hands is trembling like a leaf under autumn breeze, soft and pliant. So meek and accepting but breathing laboriously with eyes glassed over. He’s aroused and leaking between his belly and the pillow, but the pressure and limited brushes are not enough to bring him to climax, keeping him at the edge until he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or torture anymore.

Antonio’s smirk becomes less sadistic and more predatory the longer he’s subjected to the contained but intense reactions of Arthur’s body and the noises he keeps making down in his throat. The arousal trapped in his pants is starting to feel uncomfortable.

He increases his pace, ramming the vegetable into Arthur's hole faster and tilting the angle until he finds that perfect spot that just makes Arthur see stars and moan into his gag. His feet shake against the bed, toes curling and the ropes leaving angry red marks around his ankles and wrists as he pulls on them. They only add more ecstasy to his sweet agony and then he’s coming - releasing his seed in the sheets.

Antonio lets him finish and then takes out the carrot, throwing it into the corner of the room. Producing a knife from the basket and cutting the restrains of Arthur’s ankles. He nudges his ass up, forcefully making him bend his knees, then climbs on the bed behind him and pushes inside, after rubbing some butter on his dick too. It goes in easily and he doesn’t hold back, setting a fast and demanding rhythm, completely focused on pursuing his own pleasure, just using Arthur’s body as a nicely worked up hole to fuck into. It doesn’t take long. In barely minutes he spills inside, jerking in short, aborted movements inside of Arthur and digging his nails into his thighs.

It’s that blessed moment what he seeks; when all tension recedes from his body, leaving behind a feeling of almost palpable calm flooding through his muscles and bones. He pulls out and then throws himself on the mattress, breathing deeply and reveling in that sensation.

Arthur mumbles something incomprehensible and Antonio ignores him at first so he tries it again after a few minutes.

Looking up Antonio realizes that Arthur’s wrists are still tied to the bedposts. “Oh damn, sorry.” He cuts the ropes, careful not to graze the skin, and then crawls out of the bed to look for a basin with water and soap as Arthur removes the gag by himself.

Antonio cleans himself up first and then moves to Arthur, who just lets him do it, carelessly sprawled over the sheets, having rolled away from the wet spot that he left earlier. Antonio will change the bed dressings tomorrow, but for now he just makes sure that they are both marginally free from buttery residue.

***

After finishing these procedures and leaving it all aside he applies some balm to Arthur’s wrists and ankles. They are not very bruised and should be fine by the day after tomorrow. Such a pity - Antonio likes the look of them, even though some feeble fiber of conscience down in his guts makes him feel guilty about it.

He leaves the balm pot on the bedside table, figuring he’s done and should return to his room now. However, Arthur’s fingers close around his forearm. His eyes are still foggy, but he’s looking more aware now.

“Stay for a while.” It’s not a plea but an order, and the way he makes it sound clashes with his actual state; still sweet and pliant.  

It’s strange. After sessions like these, when Antonio hurts or humiliates him, Arthur prefers to be alone. He makes Antonio leave so he can lick his wounded pride in private. At first Antonio was worried that he went too far and there would be consequences. However, Arthur always emerged from his confinement hours later looking obviously satisfied, and he always came back for more.

But now he’s asking Antonio to stay, and that’s new and a bit awkward at first.

They settle with Antonio’s back perched on a cushion, head against the headboard, and Arthur draped over him, arms around his hips and head resting on his stomach.

Antonio is sleepy but not comfortable enough to dormitate, so he ends up musing about his issues, his thoughts constantly circling back to the same topics, slowly turning his good mood more stormy and gloomy. 

“You’re thinking too loud.” Arthur mumbles, raising his head and blinking sleepily at the face attached to his human pillow. He pats Antonio’s side, who just realises that his muscles had tensed up.

Inspiring deeply he lets it out, sogging deeper into the mattress. Arthur scooches up a bit, wincing at the soreness in his body but otherwise just looking curious. He’s face to face with Antonio now and his breath feels hot on Antonio’s cheek when he speaks.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s been eating you all day?” Antonio raises his eyebrows “What? You thought I wouldn't notice that you’ve been brooding over your work?”

Antonio bites on his lower lip. This reminds him of that stormy night when he ended up spilling his soul to Arthur, forced by his aching solitude and homesickness. It seems so long ago. Many things have changed since then and yet he still feels stuck in one place, suffocated again by that intense melancholy. 

“Today is Sofia’s birthday.”

“Oh.” Arthur tilts his head, resting his chin on Antonio’s shoulder. His body is warm and familiar, as are his eyes by now, silently ordering Antonio to talk.

“Her favorite thing in the world has always been music, ever since she was a little girl. I learned to play for her, to entertain her in her visits, when she missed her home and wanted to go back. She said she liked when I made up melodies because even if they were messy and uncoordinated sometimes, they sounded like I was singing with my heart. So she always requested from me a new piece for special occasions. I would spent days to make up something for her birthday and play it when we saw each other next. After she moved permanently to our home and we married I always played it to her on the same day, at the end of the celebratory banquet. Even if I wasn’t as skilled as the professional musicians hired to amuse the guests, she said that she prefered my music to anyone else’s. This is the first year we spend apart since then, and the first year I can’t play for her, congratulate her or dance with her and my mother at the banquet.”

He closes his eyes, listening to the silence and their breathing.

“But you thought of something.” Arthur asks softly. It sounds more like an affirmative and Antonio sighs.

“I couldn’t write it down but it’s been running through my head. Just won’t leave me alone.”

Arthur shifts away, incorporating a bit on his elbow. Antonio misses the body contact immediately and reaches out with his arm for Arthur’s waist.

“Play it for me?” And Antonio freezes before he can pull him closer. “You won’t be here forever. If all goes according to the plan, then one day you’ll be back home and you’ll be able to play for your wife to your heart’s delight. But until then, you could play it for me and get it out of your chest.”

As Antonio hesitates his upper lip quirks up “Besides, that way I can tell you whether it’s any good or a complete turd.”

Antonio snorts, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Do you still have the vihuela from the party?”

“In the storage room, adjoined to the library. Take my keys, don’t steal anything” At Antonio’s pointed look he shrugs. “I’m not moving. I still have butter leaking from my ass. Among other things.”

Antonio has never been to that particular room before. He wonders why Arthur keeps it under key, since it seems full of useless crap. There are some jars and platters, an entire row of ceramic dog figurines on a shelf… Antonio moves around carefully, keeping the chandelier in his extended hand and pointed to the floor, so he can avoid bumping into anything. There’s a pile of clothes in a basket in the corner and, tempted, Antonio picks up a vest. It’s beautifully engraved in golden thread but looks like it would be too big for Arthur and also for him, only a nuisance to work in, so he drops it back.

Finally, he finds the vihuela, resting against the wall next to the heavy drapes. He takes it and retreats the way he came from. Before locking the door he takes one last glance at the darkness, feeling for some reason like he’s just been in a place tucked far away from the rest of the house. He should probably ask Arthur about it in the future.

Arthur is yawning sleepily when Antonio comes back, head barely poking from under the slim blanket that he sometimes uses in colder nights. He lifts a corner so Antonio can climb in, setting with his back against the headboard and the vihuela in his hands. He twerks with the tuners until it sounds better and then tries the first few notes of the song he’s been sitting on.

He begins again, this time picking up the tune, guiding himself by instinct and years of practice rather than notations. It’s soft and melancholic, full of long notes and gentle tinkles like the delicate bells of a ball dress. He closes his eyes, pouring his hopes and misery into it in equal measure.

Even to his own ears it sounds simple and unrefined. He’d probably made it better if he had actually worked on it. All in all, a completely disposable piece, if not for the emotion seeping through it.

When he drops his hand on the bed and opens his eyes his vision is swimming, so he has to rub his wrist over his face to get rid of the moisture. Arthur is looking at him with an unreadable expression set in fhe frownlines of his brows.

“You really miss your home.” He finally speaks. It’s not a question, but an affirmation. Antonio nods.

“I told you already. I left a piece of my heart buried in the dry earth of Castile, under the stones of my family’s home. It’s calling for me, no matter how used I get to life here, the longing only gets heavier with time.”

Arthur grimaces, but it’s not directed towards Antonio, more like he just thought of something that brought him bad memories. “I know it sucks for you now, but it doesn’t sound all that bad; to have a home to miss.”

“This is your home.” Antonio points out, waving around the room.

“It’s my house, and my property.” Arthur shrugs. He settles down and Antonio tucks the vihuela under the bed. He blows at the candles in the chandelier, leaving them in an almost complete darkness.

“Antonio.” Arthur mumbles barely audible.

“Hmm?”

“Next time you feel like this? Just come to me. Don’t wait until I notice.”

When Antonio’s sleepy brain is done processing that, Arthur’s even breathing indicates that he’s already asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I hate to say this but this story is going on hiatus again. Don't worry, it's not going to take a year again (hopefully), but at least until march, yeah. 
> 
> The reason is that I like to write these chapters in batches and now I ran out of them. Also, I need to write Christmas exchanges, a story for Toni for December 6th, keep up with my Dragon AU, etc, etc, etc. Oh, and college, almost forgot about that xP
> 
> Meanwhile, if you want to scream at me and another batch of nerds about spuk you can join us in our discord chat at:
> 
> ##  [Aph S-Pain rarepair central ](http://salytierra.tumblr.com/post/167816283108/salytierra-aph-s-pain-rarepair-central-i)[♥]

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, consider commenting and/or leaving kudos. They are wonderful ao3 features that feed the writer's starving soul *puppy eyes*  
>   
> [You can also find me on tumblr](http://salytierra.tumblr.com) ♥


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